Rewrite
by Ne Quittez Pas
Summary: Kate didn't intend to fall into the world of Supernatural, but as long as she's stuck there she figures she might as well save the world. Who better to help her rewrite the story than the Scribe of God?
1. Rock Ridge

_Bart: Are we awake?  
Jim: We're not sure. Are we... black?  
Bart: Yes, we are.  
Jim: Then we're awake... but we're very puzzled._

 _\- Blazing Saddles_

* * *

Kate's jaw cracked in a yawn, breaking the quiet of the little museum and earning her a glare from an older woman. The effect of the look was lessened when the woman turned around and resumed studiously examining a stuffed jackelope.

The museum wasn't half-bad. Kate traveled extensively for work, and she often found herself in small towns. When the day was done and Kate still had some hours of daylight left in whatever place she ended up in, she'd often kill some time taking in local attractions. Historical sites, giant balls of twine, parks… and today, this place: Camwick's House of Curiosities. It was a cramped old building, with a warm, musty atmosphere that had Kate's eyes drooping despite herself. Every available wall and surface was covered in bizarre photos, relics, and placards, but most prominent was the truly impressive collection of cryptozoological taxidermy. She hadn't seen a collection this large since she'd visited the big crytozoology museum in Maine a few years ago.

She'd spent a good hour wandering through this place, perusing the various curiosities and waiting for the fine, icy mist outside to stop before she braved the roads in search of a good burger and some decent beer. Now, becoming drowsy from the warmth of the museum and feeling her stomach begin to protest her skipping lunch, she began to pick her way around tables and exhibits towards the exit.

She wasn't sure what caused her to stop on the way out.

Maybe she was just naturally drawn to the movement out of the corner of her eye, or maybe it was some property of the mirror itself. Whatever the cause, Kate spotted the mirror and approached it. It was very large, making the cramped room seem larger than it truly was, but surrounded by a gaudy, ostentatious gold frame that seemed out of place in the dusty museum. A placard had been placed just below the mirror, and Kate had to crouch a little to read it.

 _Normal Mirror_

 _This is an ordinary mirror. Placed in the museum in 2011, this mirror is just for decoration. Please stop asking us the story behind it. There isn't one._

Kate's lips quirked up at the humor of the writer and went to straighten up, already fumbling in her coat pockets for her gloves.

Everything happened very quickly, then.

An irritated 'tsk' and a waft of perfume as the woman who'd glared at Kate earlier bumped into her while she straightened. A startled curse as Kate rocked forward, off-balance, and threw her hands forward in an attempt to stop herself from crashing into the mirror face-first. Then, she was falling.

Colors whirled together, like she was moving very quickly, but Kate didn't feel like she was going fast. On the contrary, her heartbeat pounding in her ears was suddenly very loud, and slow. Her limbs were heavy, like she was moving in water—no, molasses.

And then, just as quickly as it had happened, it was over. Kate stumbled at the sudden lightness of her limbs, still off-balance. She had the barest moment to frown at the unusual warmth outside before there was light, and sound, and pain.

Then, darkness.

* * *

Kate was nauseous.

Even with her eyes closed, lying completely still, she felt like she was in a small raft on a choppy sea. For several long minutes after she woke, she kept her eyes stubbornly shut, taking deep, calming breaths to settle her stomach. By the time she'd calmed enough to open her eyes, she'd already figured she was in the hospital. What she didn't know, was why. Or where, even. She could see palm trees outside the window.

Feeling oddly giddy—the rational part of Kate, currently buried in the back of her mind, told her that must be the drugs—Kate pressed the call button beside her bed. A nurse appeared shortly after, looking pleased.

"Good morning! Good to see you're finally awake." The nurse began to check her vitals, fiddling with various instruments and marking things down on Kate's chart.

It took Kate a good minute to formulate a question. She was deeply curious about many things at the moment, and all of her questions seemed equally important. She was overthinking every possible phrasing, which meant the nurse had nearly finished his work before Kate managed to force out words.

"What happened?"

The nurse looked up immediately, looking concerned, before seemingly forcing himself to relax and offering Kate a kind, patient smile. "It's totally normal not to remember. You were hit by a car—and you got very lucky. If the driver hadn't swerved at the last moment…" The nurse shook his head, as if to dismiss the thought, and calmly explained to Kate that her left arm and leg were broken. She also had two cracked ribs and a mess-load of bruises, but she didn't appear to have a concussion or any serious internal bleeding. It would take a few months for her bones to heal, but all in all she was doing very well for someone who'd been hit by a car.

Kate's eyes were drooping by the end of the explanation, and the nurse gave her a sympathetic smile. "The drugs we gave you will stop the pain, but they make you drowsy. You just get some more rest, alright? I'll bring the doctor in next time you wake up."

Kate felt like she should protest. Something about snow, and palm trees… but instead she nodded, and fell back to sleep.

When she woke again later and was able to speak to the doctor, she demanded they lower the dose of whatever pain killer they were dosing her with. The doctor was reluctant, but Kate insisted. She'd take pain over a muddled mind any day. She hated the fog the drugs put her mind into, and they made her nauseous besides.

She also learned that she was not in Camwick anymore. She wasn't even in Massachusetts, or even New England.

She was in Florida.

Which explained the palm trees, but not much else. How the hell did she end up in Florida? That was more than a full day's drive away from where she'd left.

Apparently her purse, with all her identification and her phone, had gone under the tires of the car that hit her and had been completely destroyed. Kate had dictated her personal information to the helpful nurse, but the man had frowned in concern and checked her for a concussion when she told him her name and birthdate. When she asked how she had come to be in Florida when last she knew she had been in a museum in Camwick, Massachusetts, he had appeared even more concerned. He'd left for several long minutes, and Kate was able to make out hushed conversation outside the door. When he returned and Kate repeated her questions, she was gently informed that there _was_ no town called Camwick in Massachusetts.

The doctor was baffled, but confirmed that Kate did not have a concussion. There was talk of bringing in another doctor for a psychological evaluation, but before that could happen, the police wanted to speak with her.

Kate did not want to speak to the police. The nurse told her she had to, which she didn't think was true, but the man wheedled and lectured her about it for so long that Kate finally agreed to meet them, if only to tell them in person that she had nothing to say to them.

The nurse was dwarfed by the two men who entered the room, both wearing cheap suits and serious expressions. Kate stared at them, then looked at her IV, wondering if some new drug had been introduced into her regimen. Was she having a reaction?

"Kate Fitzgerald?" The shorter of the two men asked. He and the other man flashed badges, which Kate paid no attention to. "I'm Officer Walsh, this is Officer Steinhardt. We're hoping to ask you a few questions about your accident."

Kate stared, brow furrowed. These two were the spitting images of the guys from Supernatural. Not just look-alikes, either—the real deal. Which was obviously absurd, so Kate ignored him and turned to the nurse.

"I think I'm hallucinating," she informed the nurse. The nurse looked surprised, and exchanged a look with the two men. Which meant _he_ could see them. Was the nurse a hallucination, too? "Or is this a joke…" Kate said aloud, craning her neck around. She couldn't spot any cameras, though.

The Winchester lookalikes exchanged confused looks. The nurse hovered, looking unsure what to do. Sam/''Officer Steinhardt' offered him a small smile and gestured for him to leave, and he did, looking grateful. Kate craned her neck to see into the hallway before the door closed, but it looked empty. No sign of a TV crew waiting to see her reaction to actors from one of her favorite shows. More evidence that this was a drug-induced dream, she supposed.

"Uh, Ms. Fitzgerald? Kate?" Officer Steinhardt/Sam Winchester smiled a gentle, disarming smile, approaching the bed with small steps. Officer Walsh/Dean hung back, letting his partner/brother take the lead. "Are you alright?"

Kate eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then heaved a sigh. Might as well just play along. If it was a joke, it was a joke. If it was a dream, it was a dream. She was tired. "I've got several broken bones, some very impressive bruises, and while the doctors tell me I'm not concussed, at this point I'm not sure if I believe them."

The polite smile held, though Steinhardt/Sam traded a quick glance with his partner/brother. "And why is that?"

It was all too Supernatural for Kate to take. "Yeah, I'm either drugged or brain damaged." She rolled over into her blankets and burrowed into her pillows. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Hang on, we've got questions—"

"And I will answer them in the morning if you still exist," Kate said good-naturedly. "Good night officers."

* * *

Unfortunately, the two still existed when Kate woke up. She was beginning to wonder if she was in a coma, or something, and her brain had dropped her into an episode of Supernatural while it tried to clean up a massive hemorrhage or something.

The problem with that logic was that she felt awake. She didn't feel drugged. She could feel her pain clearly and intensely. She knew what if felt like to dream, and this wasn't it. So either dreams in comas were different from other dreams, or she had to consider the possibility that this was _real_.

She frowned at that thought while the officers Winchester were let back into her room, wondering what to do. After a moment, while the two flashed their badges again and asked if she was ready to answer questions now—probably-Dean looked very irritated at this—she decided to behave as if it was real.

Her reasoning was simple: if she was in a coma, or on a prank show, or the situation was fake in some other way, behaving as if this was real would cost her nothing. Maybe some embarrassment, if it was a prank show, but Kate was not easily embarrassed, and wasn't particularly worried about that.

If, however, this was _real_ , and Kate chose to behave as if it were a dream, or a prank show… things could go very badly very quickly.

"Sorry for falling asleep on you," Kate apologized first. "This whole thing's got me a little confused."

"You thought you were hallucinating," Sam said, voice kind but eyes narrowed curiously. "But only when you saw us. Why?"

Kate blinked, wondering what she would say if she were really in a hospital bed confronted with the Winchester brothers. "Uh. Would you believe me if I said it's because you two are too good-looking to be cops?"

Sam leaned back, eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline, and Dean huffed a disbelieving laugh. Sam shook his head after a moment. "No. This might sound crazy, but… do you _recognize_ us?"

Kate blinked, wondering how he'd caught on so quickly. Had multiple Supernatural fans been dumped into this universe. Sam clearly saw the truth in her face, and shot an 'I-told-you-so' look towards Dean.

"How do you know us?" Sam leaned forward eagerly. "When did we meet?"

Kate leaned back, eyeing him warily. "I think you and I are on different wavelengths. Why don't you tell me what _you_ think this conversation is?"

Dean scoffed. "It's not time-travel."

"Then how else did she recognize us?" Sam asked. "And it explains the birthday!"

Kate's brow furrowed. "Birthday?"

"Your birthday," Sam said, as if this should be obvious. "August 18th, 1990?"

He seemed oddly excited by it. Kate couldn't fathom why. "What about it?"

Dean scoffed. "No way that's your real birthday."

"Yes way, that's my real birthday," Kate said, irritated. She hated being called a liar.

"Really?" Dean eyed her face, and then his gaze trailed a little lower before returning. "No offense, but you don't look 18 to me."

Kate looked at her IV again, to make sure she wasn't being drugged. She wasn't. "I shouldn't, considering I'm 27. Are _you_ concussed?"

Dean narrowed his eyes and shot her a bitchy look she was more accustomed to seeing on his brother's face. "If anyone is, you are. 2008 minus 1990 is 18, sweetheart."

Kate couldn't even be pissed at the patronizing tone. "It's 2008?"

Sam grinned triumphantly. Dean spotted it and shook his head at him, "No. No way. Come on, she's lying!"

Sam thought she knew them in the future. She could work with that, she thought. It would excuse some of her knowledge, and she wouldn't have to play dumb about the fact that they were hunters, and not cops.

"What year was it when you got transported?" Sam asked, completely fascinated and ignoring his brother.

"2017."

"Nine years." Sam sounded a little awed. Then, an almost desperate gleam in his eye, Sam asked, "And you know _both_ of us?"

Kate glanced between them uncertainly. "Shouldn't I?"

Dean clenched his jaw. "Alright, that's enough. Joke's over," he said to Sam, then turned on Kate, glaring. "If you know so much about us, you should know our names. What are they?"

Kate scanned Dean's form cautiously before answering, wondering if the twitching hand on his knee was close to a hidden gun or knife. "Sam and Dean Winchester," she said finally, still eyeing Dean warily. Dean looked vaguely surprised at the answer. Sam did not, and Kate did not feel the need to disillusion him.

"Okay, fine. There's lots of ways you could know that," Dean seemed to direct that last bit more at Sam than Kate. "Tell us something that proves you know us."

"Um." Kate hesitated, and didn't like the look of malicious triumph in Dean's eyes. Did he think she was a monster? Kate was willing to bet money that Dean thought she was a monster. "Give me a second to think of something that's not common knowledge," she said, to buy time, and then thought.

It took her a few minutes to come up with good ones that she was sure she remembered correctly. "Uh. When Sam was a kid, he crammed an army man into the ashtray in the Impala, and it's still stuck there."

They both stared. Sam looked like he'd missed a step coming down the stairs. Kate guessed he hadn't thought she knew them _that_ well. It was such a minute detail to remember. But then, Sam didn't know that he hadn't been the one to tell her.

Dean's expression, Kate couldn't read. He cleared his throat, and almost hesitantly said, "Okay, do me."

Kate quirked an eyebrow, but let the unintended innuendo pass. It didn't seem the right moment to point it out. "When you were a teenager, a girl made you try on her panties."

Dean's face flushed, and Sam coughed. In a higher voice than usual, Dean demanded, "How do you _know_ us?"

Kate frowned, leaning back in her hospital bed. "I think it would be best that I didn't tell you. Time travel, paradoxes…"

She might as well have slapped Sam, from the look he was giving her. "But there's gotta be stuff you can tell us. Dean's time is running out, but if you know the _both_ of us, that must mean we find a way to save him. Right?"

Kate looked between the two of them uncertainly. Sam looked like Kate contained all the answers to the universe. Dean looked pained but hopeful, like he'd slammed his hand in a door but still had hope that it wasn't broken. And if this was 2008…

Oh.

"You mean save Dean from going to Hell," Kate guessed, voice soft.

She didn't know a way to stop it. And even if she could, should she? It was the first step to kickstarting the apocalypse. If they stopped it, they might avoid every bad thing that followed. Lucifer's release, Sam getting trapped in the cage… everything.

 _If_ they could stop it.

When everyone who was anyone in both Heaven and Hell was pushing for the apocalypse to happen, Kate didn't think they could. Stop the apocalypse, yes. Eventually, like she'd seen in the show. But stop Dean from going to Hell…

"I don't know how to stop it," Kate said finally, apologetically.

Dean's eyes were dark. "That was an awful lot of thinking for 'I don't know,'" he growled, voice low.

"I was thinking about what might changed if you _managed_ it," Kate said defensively. Dean's eyes widened, and Kate cursed when she realized her phrasing.

"So we don't manage it." His eyes were worse than dark. They were dead. Hopeless.

Kate's head felt heavy, but she shook it anyway. No, they didn't manage it.

"But you know us," Sam protested, desperate. " _Both_ of us! Even I didn't know the—the thing about Dean."

"I can't tell you how," Kate said simply.

"Can't, or won't?" Dean asked, voice hollow.

Kate regarded him with pity. "I won't tell you how," she corrected.

Sam started to protest, to try to reason with her. Kate thought, given enough time to argue his case and implore her with his huge puppy-dog eyes, he might have succeeded. Luckily for all involved, Dean cut his brother off. "Leave it, Sammy. She's not gonna talk." Dean leaned back in his chair, slowly releasing a long breath. "Will you at least tell us how you got here? All we got is video of you appearing in the middle of the road on CCTV."

This, Kate was happy enough to tell them. Maybe they could help her get back. "I fell through a mirror in a kitschy museum in a small town in Massachusetts, which the nurse here has informed me does not exist. The town, not Massachusetts," she clarified at the end, before Sam could open his mouth to ask.

"What was the name of the town?" Kate told him. He dug out a pad of pen and paper and asked her to spell it for him.

"You said you were in a museum?" Dean asked while Sam scribbled.

"Camwick's House of Curiosities," Kate sighed. It had ended up being curious, indeed. And it just got curiouser and curiouser. "Just one of those cheap, small-town tourist traps. You know, antlers on rabbits, Fiji mermaids, that sort of thing."

"Did anything seem odd?" Sam was looking at her earnestly. Kate gave him a dry look.

"You heard the bit about antlers on rabbits, right? Odd was the attraction." Sam's face fell, and Kate sighed. "But…"

"But what?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Well. the mirror I fell through was a little odd… in that it wasn't odd?" Kate recounted her attempt to leave the museum, the mirror that had caught her eye, and the plaque below it. "I thought it was funny. Then I felt someone knock into me from behind, braced myself to hit the mirror, and the next thing I know I'm being hit by a car."

The boys shared a significant look. Kate wondered if they thought they were being subtle. They weren't.

"Anything else?" Sam prompted. "Any cold spots? Strange smells?"

"Nope."

"Cursed object?" Dean guessed.

"Could be," Sam said, though he sounded doubtful. "To be honest I'm more concerned about the town that doesn't exist."

"Right." Dean paused. "Cursed town?"

"Dean."

Kate couldn't help snickering at the exchange. The two looked at her in unison, Dean arching an eyebrow, Sam's brows furrowing. "Sorry. You're just such… brothers."

They both smiled a little at that, but then Sam frowned thoughtfully at Kate. "What are we gonna do with you?"

Kate's eyebrows rose. "Do you want to try that again?"

Sam grimaced apologetically. "Sorry. It's just, if you're from the future, we can't just… leave you in the hospital here. We need to figure out how to get you back."

This was a line of conversation Kate approved of. Of all the books, movies, and TV shows she loved, the only one she would be less interested in being dropped into was Middle Earth. Not because she didn't love those worlds—it was just that they were both full of monsters who were likely to kill her, especially if they found out precisely what she knew about future events.

"And how are we gonna do that?" Dean asked skeptically. "Put her in the car and drive around Massachusetts until we find a town that doesn't exist? Even if we could, she's all broken."

"I can hear, you know."

Dean shot her an impatient look. "All I'm saying is you're in no condition to be falling through any more mirrors."

He had a point. Kate grimaced at the casts on her arm and leg. They'd take months to heal, and they'd be weak for weeks afterwards. She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Then we find this mirror," Sam said stubbornly. "And bring it to her."

Kate's shoulders sagged. There was no way they'd find the mirror among all the other mirrors in the country. It looked just like any other mirror, nothing special about it but the plaque in the museum. The museum in the town which didn't exist.

"I'm going to be stuck," Kate realized, horror dawning. Wasn't she just thinking about how dangerous this world was? And arguably, one of the most dangerous places to be in this dangerous world was _anywhere near a Winchester_. "I'm going to _die_."

"You're not gonna die, you big baby," Dean dismissed with a roll of his eyes. "Look, worst comes to worst, if we can't find the mirror, we can take her to Bobby's. He can keep her out of the way, let her wait it out until she catches up with the time she left."

"Which is _nine years_ from now, Dean," Sam said, incredulous.

"I cannot even explain how terrible of an idea that is," Kate said, pressing her fingers to the knot of tension building between her brows.

"Can't, or won't?" Dean asked again. Kate scowled at him.

"I _will_ not even explain how terrible of an idea that is."

Dean clapped, faux cheerily. "Well since you won't explain, that settles it. Sam, you look up the mirror. Bobby's the back-up plan, once gimpy here gets out of the hospital."

Kate didn't bother protesting as the Winchesters left, staring at her casts and wondering how the hell she was going to get herself out of this mess.

* * *

By the next evening, Kate had a plan. And now was the time to do it.

Sam and Dean had stopped by in the afternoon, bringing with them a smuggled burger and fries that Kate devoured impressively fast for all that she could only use one hand. Dean's excuse for the visit was that hospital food was crap. Kate guessed he was tired of looking at pictures of identical mirrors, but she'd happily accept the burger if it made him feel better.

The Winchesters didn't say when they'd be back, but Kate was worried they might walk in any minute to update her on their progress researching the mirror. She waited until the nurse had cleared away the remains of her dinner and glanced at the door nervously one last time before she clasped her hands as much as she was able with her left arm in a cast, and prayed.

"Um. Dear Metatron. I don't know if you get a lot of prayers, but this is me, praying for you. I know who you are, and where you are, even, and I'd bring this conversation to you except I'm in a hospital in Florida with a bunch of broken bones." The hospital room was empty and unchanged. Kate felt ridiculous talking out loud to herself, but pressed on. "I could really use your help. I've been in a bit of a magic-related accident, I think, and I'm stranded here. I think you could help me get home. And I think maybe I could help you, too."

Kate glanced around the still-empty hospital room and sighed heavily, unclasping her hands and letting her right one thud to the mattress. "Well, that was a bust. Guess I'll have to try another angel…"

She really didn't want to have to reach out to Gabriel, but he was her back-up plan. She wondered if he'd even answer if she prayed to him...

"No need."

Kate's head jerked up from her examination of the beige hospital blanket. There, in her hospital room, was Metatron. 5 foot, 4 inches, fluffy hair, a thick cardigan, and a shotgun. He held the gun steadily, eyes hard and suspicious. "How do you know me?"

Kate's mouth was dry. How was this real life? If it even _was_ real life… "Long story."

One of Metatron's eyebrows ticked, but otherwise he didn't react. "Who are you working for? Michael?"

"I'm not working for anybody," Kate said tiredly. She was suddenly exhausted. She'd hoped that Metatron would hear her prayer and answer her, but now that he was here she was faced with the daunting prospect of actually telling him… well. Kate wasn't sure precisely how much _to_ tell him. But there was no sense burying the lede on the main point. "I'm from an alternate dimension where the events of _this_ dimension are a television show."

Metatron lowered the shotgun, but he looked distinctly unimpressed. " _That's_ what you're going with?"

Kate huffed a short laugh. "Look, if I was going to lie to you, don't you think I'd come up with something more believable?" After a moment of suffering Metatron's still-skeptical gaze, she added, "Can't angels sense when they're being lied to?"

"For the most part." Metatron hesitated, glancing around the hospital room suspiciously for a moment before the shotgun disappeared from his hands and he approached Kate's prone form in the bed. His eyes skimmed over her injuries blankly, reminding Kate that this angel was _truly_ an angel, and that no matter how much he'd read, his empathy for humans and their suffering was limited. Nerves twisted in her gut as Metatron's eyes landed on her face. "Easy way to find out."

He pressed two fingers to Kate's temple. She couldn't feel his presence in her mind, just the warm press of his fingers against her skin. There was no telling how much he might see of this world and future events in her mind, and so she focused on the details of how she'd come to be here, along with memories of her watching the show.

After a moment, Metatron drew away, yanking his fingers away from her temple with a frown. "You're not lying." Kate couldn't tell from his tone of voice how he felt about that.

"I'm not," Kate confirmed, for lack of anything else to say. What _did_ one say in a situation like this?

"And you want my help getting back," Metatron guessed easily.

"Yes."

"But you said _you_ could help _me_." Metatron said, looking partly curious, partly disbelieving.

Kate mulled over how to phrase it for a moment. "I know almost all of what's going to happen in the next decade, including the apocalypse and your death."

Everything went white. Kate slammed her eyes shut, then hesitantly opened them and blinked away the spots in her vision. She was no longer in the hospital room, but in a vaguely familiar space, surrounded by stacks upon stacks of books. She had been deposited in a plush armchair, and she groaned as her broken bones twinged in protest at the loss of support and rapid change in position.

"Ow," she groused at Metatron grumpily, hissing and gingerly trying to arrange her broken body into a more comfortable sitting position. The limbs throbbed, and Kate was sorely missing the pain medication she'd rejected.

Metatron rolled his eyes and pressed two fingers to her temple once again. A brief moment of searing heat later and her broken bones were healed, her casts gone. Metatron walked a few feet and sank into another armchair before Kate could even thank him and gestured at her impatiently. "Well? Get on with the story."

"Thank you," Kate said first, because it was the polite thing to do when someone healed in seconds what would have taken months to mend on her own. Metatron kicked up his feet onto a footrest without acknowledging her words, and Kate cleared her throat awkwardly. "Uh, before I start, I should tell you that I've arranged for the main points of what I'm about to tell you to be delivered to someone else should anything happen to me."

This was true. She's borrowed Sam's laptop in the hospital and pecked at it one-handedly for almost an hour, arranging all of the information to be sent to Bobby Singer in the event something should happen to her, and then spending almost as much time clearing her history and everything she'd done so Sam couldn't snoop and see what she'd done. He'd looked quite crestfallen when he'd clicked through his laptop and seen how thoroughly she'd covered her tracks.

Metatron eyebrows rose for a brief moment, then sank down. He eyed her posture curiously. "You think I might hurt you," he said, sounding genuinely puzzled. Not, Kate thought, at the notion that he might hurt her, but rather that she would have called out to him for help if she thought that.

Kate chose to ignore the statement, not feeling like explaining her reasoning at this point. It would become clear when she told the story. "A good deal of what's going to happen is preventable, but on the off chance that you aren't inclined to prevent it, I wanted to make sure someone else could."

Metatron looked like he wasn't quite sure whether or not to be insulted. After a moment he shook his head and gestured at her again. "Well then? What's going to happen?"

And so Kate told him. Mostly, anyway. About the start of the apocalypse. About Heaven and Hell pushing for Lucifer and Michael to finally fight, and their plans being disrupted by the Winchesters. About the subsequent civil war in heaven. About Castiel and his alliance with Crowley, opening Purgatory, and releasing the Leviathans. About the tablets he'd written re-surfacing. She also told him in broad stroked about power struggles in Heaven, doing her best to leave out his involvement in those events and skipping entirely over him casting the angels out of Heaven and trying to become God. She instead told him about Abaddon, about Dean taking on the Mark of Cain and then removing it, releasing the Darkness. About Lucifer's release, God's brief return and then departure, and Metatron's own death in an attempt to save Lucifer, and the hope for humanity.

Metatron, for his part, did not interrupt. He listened with dark, thoughtful eyes, hands laced under his chin and absorbing Kate's words. When she'd finished her tale, he surveyed her silently for long minutes while Kate shifted nervously, unsure what his reaction would be.

Finally, Metatron spoke, again sounding merely curious. "Why on Earth did you come to me?" Kate blinked. She'd expected questions, but not that one. Not at first, anyway. Seeing her surprise, Metatron added, "You don't trust me. Even now, you're afraid I might kill you. So why come to me at all? Why not Castiel, or the Winchesters? Why tell me any of this?"

Kate shrugged, curling up in the armchair and wrapping her arms around her legs. The room was chilly, and unlike Metatron in his cozy, thick cardigan, she was dressed in only a hospital gown. She ticked off the various options she'd considered on her hands as she spoke.

"Castiel is currently being a good little soldier, unaware that he's working to bring about the apocalypse. Being around Sam and Dean would probably get me killed. I _did_ think about approaching Gabriel, but at this point I think he's pro-apocalypse. He's too powerful for me to risk handing over this information and just hoping he still changes his mind—he might decide to stop Sam and Dean. Frankly, you seemed like the safest option." Kate glanced up from her fingers. Metatron's shoulders were slumped and he was frowning at a spot somewhere over her shoulder.

"And," she continued, purposely catching his eye, "out of all the characters," she paused, then corrected, " _people_ in this messed-up universe, you're the one I most relate to. So I'm hoping you'll help."

"Help how, exactly?" Metatron sounded tired.

"Aside from getting me home?" Kate asked lightly. "Rewriting the story, of course."

Metatron stared at her like he was only just now seeing her for the first time. "You want me to help you meddle with fate." Kate couldn't tell how he felt about it from his tone of voice.

"Well, as I understand it, fate doesn't play much of a role in events once the apocalypse is averted," Kate hedged. "So it's more like I want you to help stop some easily preventable disasters and save a bunch of humans and most of the angels in Heaven in the process."

Metatron's brows shot up. "Why would you think I'd want to save the angels?"

Kate chewed her lip for a moment. Answering honestly would probably come off as rude, she thought. After some quick thinking, she did what she always did in these situations: told the truth anyway, regardless of consequences.

"I think that you love your family. You miss them, and Heaven. You would never have left if you hadn't been forced to, and while you've spent hundreds of years hidden away, reading our stories, you still can't get over the fact that we're human, and you'll never really feel like you belong among us. And I think you crave Heaven's recognition and acceptance and approval too much to do nothing when an opportunity like this is presented to you."

Metatron had stood, slowly, halfway through Kate's speech, a scowl growing on his face. For all that his vessel couldn't have been more than 5'4", he looked taller than that, and the air in the room felt heavy. While Metatron had never been a warrior, he was still an angel, and the unsettling charge in the air reminded Kate that he didn't need to be a soldier to be dangerous.

"Don't you pretend to know me," he warned, voice quiet and grave.

Kate swallowed and decided to press her luck. "I don't think you'd be quite so angry with me if that wasn't true."

Metatron drew himself up, eyes flashing, and Kate flinched backwards instinctively. The movement seemed to surprise Metatron out of whatever wrath he was about to exact. Instead he offered Kate something between a smile and a grimace and said, "Let me sleep on it."

Before Kate could frown and ask him what he meant because _angels don't sleep_ , he'd pressed his fingers to her temple once more and she was out like a light.


	2. Soon

_Lord Dark Helmet: What the hell am I looking at? When does THIS happen in the movie?  
Col. Sandurz: NOW. You're looking at now, sir. Everything that happens now is happening now.  
Lord Dark Helmet: Go back to then!  
_ _Col. Sandurz: What?  
_ _Lord Dark Helmet: THEN!  
_ _Col. Sandurz: I can't!  
_ _Lord Dark Helmet: Why not?  
_ _Col. Sandurz: We passed it!  
_ _Lord Dark Helmet: When?  
_ _Col. Sandurz: Just now!  
_ _Lord Dark Helmet: When will then be now?  
_ _Col. Sandurz: SOON!_

-Space Balls

* * *

Kate woke very warm and with a crick in her neck. The bed she found herself on was old, and its springs protested loudly as she sat up, pushing off off the thin duvet. She appeared to be in a hotel room, which puzzled her for a moment, before she remembered her conversation with Metatron, and the fact that he resided in the Two Rivers Hotel. She decided to take the fact that she was both alive and still here as a good sign.

There was a small stack of clothes on the dresser, and Kate brought them with her into the bathroom to dress after a shower. Thirty minutes later she emerged, curls damp and cold against her neck, dressed in an odd hodge-podge of clothes: a thick cardigan and man's button-up shirt she thought might have belonged to Metatron himself, and a long patterned skirt she guessed might have belonged at one point to one of the women in the Two Rivers tribe. There had been no underwear provided, but there were thick woolen socks, which Kate donned with relief. She hated the cold.

Finding Metatron again wasn't difficult. The room she'd occupied for the night was nearby, and through the open door she could spot towers and towers of books. She hesitated in the doorway for a long moment, unsure whether to knock and announce herself. There ended up being no need.

"Don't just stand there," Metatron's voice floated out into the hallway. "Your waffles will get cold."

Kate raised an eyebrow at the mention of waffles, but obediently entered. It had changed overnight. There was still an insane number of books, but they'd been pushed aside and re-arranged haphazardly, clearing a large space on the wall. There was indeed a plate of waffles sitting on a low table, but that wasn't what caught Kate's attention. The wall was.

It looked like Metatron was trying to solve a murder. There was one long red string spanning horizontally across the wall, with note cards stuck to the wall with pushpins every few feet.

Metatron himself stood before the wall with his back to her, looking at it. His hair looked fluffier than it had yesterday, as if he'd been running his hands through it.

Kate hesitantly picked her way toward the food, keeping a wary eye on the angel. "What is all this?"

"An outline," Metatron said simply. He turned, brows raised and tucking his hands into the pockets of his cardigan. "You want a rewrite?" He gestured grandly at the wall. "This is how we do it."

Kate paused in the process of picking up the plate, straightening to stare. "You're going to help?"

"I'm going to help."

There was actually something of an excited gleam in his eyes. It both reassured and worried Kate. Reassured her, because he wanted to help. Worried her, because she suspected that she wouldn't be able to keep his own future actions from him for long, and she wasn't at all sure how he would react to the revelation. Kate sat in the worn armchair and ate the waffles mechanically, hardly tasting them in her haste to look at what Metatron had put together on the wall.

She finished quickly and put the plate aside, examining the notes Metatron had put up. They were just a few of the key points she'd told him last night, with approximate dates. She rearranged a few of them wordlessly.

"First order of business is fleshing this out," Metatron spoke from behind her. Kate's lips quirked a little as she realized she stood a good two inches taller than the angel. "Now, tell me the story again," he instructed imperiously. "From the beginning."

Kate obeyed, leaning against the wall while Metatron scribbled notes and pinned them along the timeline. Hours passed. Unlike last night, he interrupted her frequently now, asking clarifying questions and trying to determine when, precisely, events took place. Unfortunately, Kate couldn't remember all of the details he asked about, and with each unknown factor Metatron grew visibly more irritated. The sixth time Kate was forced to admit, apologetically, that she didn't know the answer to a question, Metatron threw down his cards and rand a hand through his hair, glaring at her.

"How are we supposed to do this if you can't remember the simplest details?"

"There are a dozen seasons of this show, and I've only watched it twice," Kate defended. She would have watched it more carefully had she known she'd be dumped into this universe. "I thought angels could read minds? Can't you just… pluck the details out of my head?"

Metatron rolled his eyes. "It's not that simple. It's a _mess_ in there." He thrust a finger rudely at Kate's head. She wondered if she should be offended, but Metatron continued, "Things half-remembered, out of order—not to mention half the time you were just listening to the dialogue and not paying attention to what was on screen." He gave her a withering look. "This is what you get for playing so much Tetris."

Kate sighed, rubbing her temple and staring at the wall before her. It looked dismally empty, and filling it up with the correct information suddenly seemed hopeless. "Old fashioned way it is, then," she muttered, resigned.

"Not necessarily." Metatron's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, giving Kate a speculative look. After a long moment of just staring at her, he gestured to the armchair. "Sit down."

Kate dragged her feet, but sat. "What do you mean, 'not necessarily'?"

"There are spells to sharpen the mind and the memory." Metatron sounded preoccupied, not looking at her as he wound his way through the stacks of books as if looking for something. With a soft 'aha!', he returned with a small knife. Kate eyed it warily. "This should speed things along."

She hoped he wasn't going to try coming at her with that thing. "Is it safe?"

Metatron's lips quirked up at the corner. Belatedly, Kate realized she'd accidentally quoted Marathon Man. This did not comfort her. Still, Metatron seemed to consider his answer. "Mostly."

"That is not at all reassuring."

Metatron sighed impatiently. "So long as you don't have any deeply buried trauma or repressed memories, you should be fine." He cut his palm with the knife with a grimace, adding belatedly, "Or past lives."

"And I'm not going to burn out?" Kate remembered the gruesome effects of some of Rowena's spells on her victims. She wasn't keen to have her brain boil in her skull.

"No burning out," Metatron assured her. Kate hoped, desperately, that he wasn't just lying about it. "Now, chin up."

Kate lifted her chin. Metatron dipped a finger in his own blood and began to carefully draw sigils on Kate's forehead, a look of deep concentration and something like peace on his face. Kate watched his many-colored hazel eyes, trying to read him. His hands and the blood were hot on her face, and Kate had to clench her fists on her knees to resist the urge to wipe or itch at the odd sensation. When it finally seemed like there was no more room on Kate's forehead, Metatron placed his bloodied hand on the crown of Kate's head, closed his eyes, and chanted.

Kate wasn't sure of the language, but she did know it echoed unnaturally in the room and in her skull, like the clanging of church bells. All of her senses seemed to grow hyper-aware. She heard the sound of her own heart, and Metatron's, the whoosh of blood through veins and the hum of electricity in the walls. She smelled the syrup on her own breath, dust and paper from the hundreds of books stacked around her, the metallic smell of Metatron's blood on her face, and tasted it all with every inhale. Metatron's hand in her hair was burning hot, every nerve tingling like her whole body had fallen asleep. She had to shut her eyes as her vision grew so bright and vibrant that she thought she might vomit from sheer over-stimulation.

Then it was over. Metatron yanked his hand as if he'd scalded it and Kate blinked, feeling disoriented and cold. Metatron strode away past some tall stacks of books while she gathered herself, and Kate heard the distant sound of water running. Metatron returned a moment later with clean hands and a wet rag, which he tossed at Kate. She caught it and scrubbed at the blood on her forehead, remaining seated. She wasn't sure she could manage standing on her own two feet just yet.

" _Now_ ," Metatron said, picking up the abandoned cards and the fat marker he'd been writing with. "Tell me the story again."

Things went much more quickly after that. Kate told the story again, remembering things much more clearly. When Metatron asked clarifying questions, Kate could close her eyes and return to the memory like rewatching a video. It sometimes took some time to locate the precise detail he'd asked after, but the hours seemed to pass much more quickly and productively. The wall filled up steadily with notes, string connecting key events and key players, and Metatron seemed to grow more energized the longer they were at it.

But now that Kate had no excuses for lapses in her memory, she could no longer hide Metatron's own involvement. And Metatron, being as intelligent as he was, caught on quickly.

"What exactly are you trying to hide here?" Metatron looked significantly between Kate and the vast gaps in their forming timeline. "I can't 'rewrite' if I don't know all the material."

Kate swallowed. He was right, she knew. But would he even want to rewrite, once she told him?

"We should… probably sit down for this." Kate slowly worked her way to what was becoming 'her' armchair, slumping into it. She didn't want to have this conversation.

"Is this related to my death, which you've so far managed to gloss over?" Metatron asked, eyes sharp. Of course he'd noticed that. Kate nodded, and Metatron sat, folding his hands over crossed legs. "Go on, then."

Kate took one last look at his open, optimistic face. She wished it could stay like this. That Metatron could be the hero editor, righting the wrongs of the story.

Haltingly, she explained. About Sam and Dean coming to visit him, and saving Kevin. About tricking Castiel into casting the angels out of Heaven, the warring factions and his own bid to take over. His defeat, and the loss of his grace. His life as a human, meeting God again, and finally sacrificing himself to save Lucifer from the Darkness.

Metatron didn't speak, but he didn't need to. Kate watched the light in his eyes get dimmer and dimmer, the smile lines in his face turning to frown lines as his brow furrowed and then his face went slack. By the end it was hard for Kate to look at him. She wasn't sure if he knew how raw and bare he looked, but Kate felt like she was intruding just watching him.

When she finished, there was a long, pregnant silence. Kate waited for Metatron to speak, to move, to do anything.

"Why did you come to me?" Metatron's voice was hollow as he repeated the question he'd asked her last night. "I understand, now, why you distrust me. _Fear_ me, even. But I don't understand why you called out to me."

Kate bit her lip. Every logical reason she'd spelled out the night before was true, of course, but when it really came down to it, the reason she called out to Metatron before anyone else was, "Because I like you." Metatron stared at her, uncomprehending. "Because I find you relatable, and understandable. Because I thought you'd work with me on this, and be good at it. Because in the end you redeemed yourself, and I want to believe that _that's_ the person you are deep down. Not… X."

Metatron's brow was low, his eyes glassy, though with sadness or anger or something else Kate couldn't tell. "Get out," he said finally, voice barely more than a whisper.

She did, hastily, hoping she hadn't just ruined her chances of fixing this world _and_ getting home.

* * *

Metatron stared at the blank space on the wall when Kate had gone. _Metatron's_ blank space, where Kate had hemmed and hawed and tried to avoid talking about the things he'd done. Or would do. Or wouldn't, as the case was now.

Metatron, the villain. Metatron, the vengeful hermit. The nerd whose revenge had failed, fantastically. Metatron, who wasn't special and never had been. Just the angel closest to the door. Metatron, whose greatest accomplishment in millennia on this Earth was getting himself killed.

For so long, Metatron had been alone. Living among the humans, hiding in books and losing himself in stories to distract himself from his exile. But it was all worth it, he had thought, because God _chose_ him to take down his word, _trusted_ him, _saw_ something in him. And that feeling was… indescribable. The pride he'd felt. The honor. The sheer delight of basking in his father's warmth and light, taking down his word and preserving it. Years passed and Metatron missed Heaven, missed angels, missed _home_. But he stayed away, because he had to, and he bore the burden because it was God's plan.

Except, it wasn't. Except God hadn't _picked_ him. He'd simply pointed at the first angel he saw, and that angel just happened to be Metatron.

What did his life amount to, then? Unspecial, unwanted, unloved and alone. Living among creatures who couldn't hope to understand him, that overwhelmed him with their sheer _emotion_.

Why should he try to change any of this? To 'rewrite,' as Kate had called it. Why should he care for the world, for _Heaven_ , when it cared nothing for him?

No, he thought, he didn't owe anyone anything. He'd send the girl home, now, and get her and her ridiculous expectations out of his life forever. Metatron turned away from the wall.

His eyes fell on his books. Hundreds and thousands of them just in these rooms, and these just a fraction of what he'd read in his lifetime. The books, which had been his only company for hundreds of years. The stories he cherished, that kept him sane. The true flower of free will.

He looked back at the wall, mouth twisting. The human toll of the disasters outlined in broad strokes was likely in the hundreds, if not thousands. He looked back at the books, then back at the wall.

He supposed he owed humanity, just least a little. For the stories.

And if Metatron got to be the hero this time, got to be _important..._ well, that was just a bonus.

* * *

Kate returned to the room she woke up in, for lack of anywhere else to go. Or did Metatron mean 'get out' entirely? Did he want her to leave the hotel? Seek out Gabriel, or the Winchesters, or one of her other backup plans?

She paced the room and twisted her fingers. More than once she made for the door, then stopped herself with a curse. Should she leave, or stay? Try to talk to Metatron, or wait him out? She mumbled possibilities out loud, but despite listing dozens of facts and possible courses of action, all Kate could bring herself to do was pace the room and think herself to death.

Luckily, she was stopped before the rapid fire of her thoughts could kill her.

A knock sounded on the door. Kate froze and stared at it, wondering if she'd imagined it. The knock sounded again, more loudly, and Kate darted across the room, throwing the door open.

"How long does Dean spend in Hell before he's saved?" Metatron asked, business-like, as if their conversation from however-long-ago had never taken place and he'd never sent her away.

Kate's shoulders sagged in relief, and she told him readily that he'd spent four months in Hell before Castiel raised him up, trailing behind Metatron back to his rooms and resuming the feverish, frenzied construction of the outline. Metatron was once more absorbed in the work, and if possible even more enthusiastic than before.

His frantic scribbling energy seemed to catch, too. Kate scribbled her own notes, muttering and rearranging and adding details about certain people's movements or motivations that Metatron's searching questions hadn't revealed. Kate's concentration only broke when her stomach growled, so loudly that she fumbled and dropped her pen in surprise. She picked it up, rubbing her stomach and looking around the room, surprised at how dark it had become. They'd worked well into the night, it seemed.

"Here." Metatron shoved a plate with a sandwich into Kate's hands. She hadn't noticed him leave or return, which wasn't like her at all. She sat in the plush armchair to devour the sandwich, the exhaustion of being on her feet for hours catching up to her all at once. "I sometimes forget how often humans need to eat."

Kate huffed a small laugh around a mouthful of sandwich. "Me, too."

Metatron glanced at her over his shoulder, and she saw his eyes flick from her narrow face to her thin wrists. "I believe that."

Kate shrugged. When she'd been younger she'd been more self-conscious about the way people saw her. Her height and bone structure, combined with her tendency to become obsessively absorbed in whatever she was engaged in, often left her looking less than healthy. But she'd grown comfortable in her own skin, and was unbothered by the judging looks people, and now angels, would occasionally shoot her way.

When she'd finished wolfing down the sandwich, she tried to resume working, but Metatron kicked her out with instructions to 'get some sleep and come back when you're useful again'. Despite the disparaging tone, Kate happily complied.

It took nearly a week for them to fully flesh out the outline of the story to both of their satisfaction. They finished on a Friday evening, and to Kate's surprise Metatron produced a pizza and some beer in celebration of the accomplishment. He even ate some, though he didn't touch the beer.

"So," Metatron said after he'd finished, wiping grease off his fingers with a napkin and nodding to the organized mess on the wall. "I'm curious. What do you propose we change?" Kate blinked at him curiously, mouth full of pizza. "I assume you already had some idea what to change when you proposed this insane undertaking."

Kate swallowed, frowning. She did have an idea, but she wasn't sure how well it was going to go over with Metatron. She took another bite of pizza to stall, pondering how to phrase it so she didn't sound completely heartless.

"Basically all of Heaven and Hell is pushing for the apocalypse to happen," She began, matter-of-fact. Metatron crossed his legs, lacing his fingers together and placing them on his knee, eyeing her with interest. "I don't particularly like the thought of taking on both sides, not when the Winchesters can put Lucifer and Michael in the cage. What I propose, is letting the apocalypse play out largely unchanged, and then help Castiel and the other anti-apocalypse angels take out Raphael once the dust clears."

Metatron hummed. Kate couldn't read the expression on his face. "Interesting."

Was interesting good or bad? Kate was lost. "Interesting?"

Metatron uncrossed his legs, leaning back in the chair and drumming his fingers along the arm. "You said your universe isn't the same one the Winchesters supposedly traveled to."

Kate nodded. She'd told Metatron about _The French Mistake_ , but that the world the boys traveled to couldn't have been hers, given the fact that, as far as she knew, Misha Collins was very much alive. But she failed to see how it was relevant to her plan.

"So, what makes you think the universe you are in _now_ is the precise one you've seen in the show, and not some alternate timeline?" Metatron asked simply.

Kate swallowed her mouthful of pizza with immense effort.

She'd never even considered that. She was in Supernatural, so surely events would progress the way she expected—but as Metatron had just said, there was no telling that it really would. Maybe she wasn't in the Supernatural she'd seen. Maybe she was in one of the darker alternate timelines where the apocalypse really happened, where the world ended. She looked to the wall in panic, wondering if the timeline they'd created was even worth anything.

"Doctor Who is a lie," she muttered finally, rubbing her temples. "Time and interdimensional travel is the _worst_."

Metatron hummed sympathetically. "It's not a bad plan, assuming everything happens the way you think it will. But it's a tricky, complex story." He eyed the wall contemplatively. "A balancing act. And it could go off the rails at any time."

Kate sighed shakily. "That's…"

"Exhilarating," Metatron breathed, at the same time as Kate finished, "Terrifying."

Metatron smiled, though Kate didn't find it a particularly kind expression. "To each their own."

"We could _fail_ ," Kate said, eyes wide. "The world could _end_."

"You realize that was how it's supposed to happen in the first place?" Metatron asked, sounding unconcerned. "Look, we still have the advantage. We know how it's supposed to play out, at least according to you. We just have to keep an eye on things. Nudge them in the right direction if they start going off track."

"If we can." Looking at all the moving pieces on the board laid out in front of her, Kate wasn't so sure they could.

* * *

Kate knocked tentatively on Metatron's open door the next morning, unsure of her welcome in his rooms now that the outline had been completed. "Metatron?"

"Mm?"

Kate picked her way through the mess of books, finding Metatron in his cushy armchair. He watched her over a copy of _Alice in Wonderland_ , which she thought was too relevant a choice to be unintentional. She wondered if he'd been reading something else and then switched to this book when he heard her approach. "I wanted to talk to you about how I can get home."

Metatron's eyebrows raised. "Why on Earth would you want to go home? We've only just begun."

Kate blinked at him. "Because I don't belong here?" She said uncertainly. "I mean, now that you know everything I do, there's no reason for me to stay." Kate didn't feel entirely comfortable leaving all of that power in Metatron's hands unsupervised, but she figured she could send the details to Bobby before she left and he'd ensure that there was some opposition if Metatron tried to seize power.

Metatron frowned. "No, I suppose there isn't." His eyes looked distant for a moment, then refocused on her. He gestured for her to take the seat opposite him. "Tell me again exactly how you came to be here. And the details of Balthazar's spell."

Kate re-told the story, and after some thought, was even able to sketch out the sigil for Balthazar's spell on a piece of scrap paper. Metatron accepted it and eyed it curiously, but he frowned, and Kate's stomach dropped.

Metatron offered her a pitying look. "I've never heard of anything like the spell Balthazar used, or the artifact that brought you here." Metatron tilted his head, as if reconsidering his words. "Except, maybe, in _Through the Looking Glass_. But unless you want to go throwing yourself at every mirror in the world, hoping to find the one that leads you back…"

"You mean I'm stuck here?" That was not ideal. Of all the shows and books Kate loved, Supernatural probably ranked right after Lord of the Rings in terms of universes most likely to get her killed. And now here she was, meddling in things way over her head. "I'm going to die."

"You're not going to die." Metatron rolled his eyes. "Look, I'll look into it. See what I can dig up on alternate universes and how to get you back."

Kate hadn't put much thought into what would happen if she had to stay in this world for any extended period of time, but now the thoughts and doubts and half-formed plans descended on her all at once. Kate put her head in her hands, groaning. "I'll need to find a job. And an _identity_ , so I can get a job. What a mess."

"I don't follow." Metatron put a bookmark in his book and set it aside.

Kate shot him a tight-lipped, unimpressed look. "I can't just live off the grid like you do. I need a place to live, food, clothes. For that I need money, for which I need a job, for which I need things like identification. Which I don't have, because I don't exist here."

A line formed between Metatron's brows. "Have I somehow given you the impression that I'm kicking you out?"

Kate blinked at him, mouth open. "Well, no. But it's not like I can just stay here forever."

"You can, and you should," Metatron said, like it was that simple. "Despite what you've said, I am not at all certain that I've picked all possible relevant details from that brain of yours. No, I think it's best you stick around and see this through, for as long as you _do_ stick around."

He had a point. Kate's shoulders sagged, but she nodded reluctantly. "I still want new clothes."

Metatron frowned. "What's wrong with the ones you're wearing?"

Kate huffed a laugh. "Apart from the fact that they're yours? I look like a homeless grandmother."

* * *

Kate settled into her room and something like normality in the Two Rivers Hotel and Casino. She earned some curious looks from the hotel's employees, but they dropped off some fitting clothes and essentials in boxes outside her door the same way they did books for Metatron, without a word.

The other 'essential' was delivered much less pleasantly. Metatron had simply found her in the hall, pressed a hand against her head, and seared sigils into her bones without warning. While Kate was still cringing and recovering from the pain, Metatron had explained that she could no longer be found by angels, possessed by demons, or have her mind read without her consent. Kate had wheezed at him, and Metatron had returned to his room and his books.

For lack of anywhere else to go, Kate often found herself in Metatron's rooms. He was always half-listening to angel radio now, and every once in awhile he'd stiffen and tilt his head. Sometimes this would result in a tidbit of information that he shared with Kate. Other times he shook his head, dismissing what he'd heard as unimportant.

Kate wasn't sure whether to believe him. As much as she liked Metatron as a character when he was on a television show, she wasn't sure how much she could trust _this_ Metatron. This angel, with a chip on his shoulder and a thirst to prove himself, who Kate had handed very dangerous information, and who Kate knew was an exceptionally skilled liar and manipulator.

It was for this reason that Kate kept her own eye on things, as much as she was able. She procured a laptop and set up alerts, keeping an eye on the newspapers for any unusual events or mentions of the Winchesters.

She also searched for her own way back home. She wasn't sure if it was her skepticism that Metatron's vast knowledge didn't contain a means to return to her own world or something in the tone of Metatron's voice when he asked her why she would want to go home, but she suspected that he knew more than he let on. Though Kate wasn't sure what his motivation could be for keeping her around. If he was attempting some manipulation, surely the wisest thing to do would be to send her away?

There were hundreds of leads to explore, but it was impossible to tell what was genuine and what was fake. She sifted through dozens of webpages, blogs, and even academic articles every day, looking for a way back home. What she really needed, she thought, was access to a good library. Metatron's, while impressive, was almost entirely fiction, and contained none of the lore books that might have proven helpful. The only other libraries of any use that she knew of belonged to Bobby Singer—out of the question for obvious reasons—and the Men of Letters, whose bunker would be inaccessible until Henry Winchester arrived with the key in a few years.

After the first few days, Metatron had relegated her to a corner of the room separated from his own preferred reading spot by several stacks of books, irritated at her frustrated sighs and the clacking of keys interrupting his reading.

Kate barely slept. She suspected that this was less a product of her own mania, and more a side-effect Metatron's mind-sharpening spell. Kate already had a tendency to obsess and overthink before. She had lost sleep a lot of nights because she simply couldn't quiet her mind enough to rest. Now, it was even worse. She found that working herself to exhaustion was a good way to avoid tossing and turning with an overactive mind for hours. So instead, Kate stayed up reading until the words blurred together on her screen. More than once she'd fallen asleep contorted in an armchair with her laptop on her lap, woken by Metatron's shuffling or the sounds of stacking books.

One one such occasion, nearly a month after meeting Metatron, Kate woke to the newspaper hitting her in the face and a disapproving look from Metatron.

"If you're going to snore, you could at least go to your own room to do it," he groused as Kate blinked rapidly and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Kate managed an apology mid-yawn. "Why are you exhausting yourself like this?"

Kate shrugged tiredly, setting the forgotten laptop aside and beginning to skim the paper absently. "What else am I supposed to do? Sit on my ass and wait for the apocalypse to come?"

"I don't know, read a book?" Metatron gestured at the room. "Watch a movie? Eat full meals and sleep in a bed?" Kate rustled the paper, paused, and smiled. Metatron frowned, puzzled. "Why are you smiling?"

Kate raised an eyebrow, smile growing at the question. "Can't a girl just smile?"

"You don't smile just because," Metatron said simply. Kate was a little surprised that he'd made that observation, and her smile dimmed. She thought Metatron had been doing his best to ignore her presence over the last few weeks. Apparently he's been paying more attention than she realized.

"You're right, I don't." She nodded to the paper. "Just, you mentioned movies. One of my favorites is playing in town. I saw it in high school, but I guess it just came out here…" Kate looked up at Metatron consideringly.

She hadn't left the hotel since she'd arrived, and she was getting stir-crazy. Sure, she could see the Colorado mountains outside her window, but she hadn't felt fresh air on her face in weeks. She was used to being on the road, moving from place to place. She couldn't remember the last time she'd stayed in one place for this long.

And so she asked, hopefully, "You up for a movie?"

Metatron stared in such disbelief that she may as well have propositioned him. "You mean go out?"

"A few hours away from this place won't kill you, will it?" Kate asked, part teasing and part serious. "I doubt the angels are searching for you right now. They're a little busy preparing for the apocalypse."

Metatron frowned deeply, seeming to consider it. "What's it about?"

"In Bruges?" Kate folded the paper, wondering how to phrase it. "Life, death, mistakes, redemption…" She grimaced at how cheesy that ended up sounding and added, "Also hitmen and drugs and hookers."

Metatron surveyed her for a long moment before taking the newspaper back without responding. Kate assumed at first that was a 'no', but then Metatron called over his shoulder that she'd better shower and eat something if she wanted to go out, and she grinned.

Metatron, still paranoid about being watched any time he left the safety of the well-warded hotel, bypassed the ticket booth entirely and zapped them directly into the theater. Kate thoroughly enjoyed seeing the film again, though she watched Metatron out of the corner of her eye throughout, trying to gage his reaction. He kept a straight face for the most part, but every once in awhile he'd crack a smile or even laugh. He either didn't notice or didn't care about Kate's observation, though he did shoot her a wondering look when, despite herself, she had to brush away a tear during one of the climactic scenes.

When it was finished, Metatron returned them to his rooms and Kate picked her way to the small kitchenette hidden behind several stacks of books to fix two cups of instant cocoa. Placing one at Metatron's elbow—she'd surmised, from his reluctant and infrequent contact with her, that he didn't like to be touched—she asked what he thought of the movie.

He dissected it. Pointed out the flaws, what was good and what wasn't, what was pointless or overdone. Kate listened to him take apart one of her favorite films with a patient ear, sipping hot cocoa and wondering just how many stories Metatron had read, and what it took to impress him.

"You didn't like it, then?" She asked when he'd finished, slightly disappointed.

"Oh no," Metatron denied immediately. "I thoroughly enjoyed it."

Kate smiled. Metatron looked uncertain and a bit confused at the gesture, looking away towards the wall of string and notes and maybe-will-happens. "What I am trying to figure out," Metatron said after a moment, glancing back at her, "is what it says about you that _that_ was one of your favorite films."

Kate laughed.


	3. Like You

_If I could begin to be_  
 _Half of what you think of me_  
 _I could do about anything_  
 _I could even learn how to love_  
 _-Love Like You, Rebecca Sugar_

Going to the movies seemed to thaw their relationship some, relaxing a tension Kate hadn't noticed until it disappeared. She still searched for a way home, but now restricted her research to a few hours every day. To pass the rest of the time, she tried to pretend she was on vacation and just enjoy herself. She slept late, watched crappy movies, and drank more wine than she really should. The hotel had a gym, empty at almost all hours of the day, where she was able to exercise and even relax in a hot tub. Kate wondered, vaguely, how the hotel managed to stay open with so few guests passing through it.

Often, though, she would still find herself in Metatron's rooms. She'd poke through the stacks and stacks of books, which appeared to be in no particular order, looking for something to read, or bother Metatron by asking his opinion on some book or movie or another.

That is, Metatron made a show of being bothered. Kate suspected he secretly liked those little talks. She supposed he wasn't much used to having someone to talk to, let alone someone interested in his opinion on things, for all that he'd like to give it. The people of the Two Rivers tribe, though they delivered books to Metatron, seemed wary of him. There was no real relationship there. But Kate was a willing ear, and Metatron was more than happy to talk.

One evening in May, Kate curled up in an armchair and attempted to struggle through one of the many Shakespeare plays she'd only faked reading in high school. Occasionally she'd ask Metatron what a particular word or line meant, and he'd absentmindedly explain it to her. Eventually his distraction distracted Kate in turn, and she looked up from the text to find Metatron staring ponderously at the mess they'd made of the wall. Particularly the end. His part.

That couldn't be good.

"Metatron?" He glanced at her to show he was listening. Kate couldn't read the look on his face. "Is something wrong?"

He turned, hands in his pockets, and stared at Kate like she was a particularly difficult puzzle. "Why do you trust me?"

Kate frowned. "I don't, really."

Metatron tsk'ed impatiently. "You know what I mean."

"Why did I trust you with this information when it could be so dangerous in your hands, you mean?" Metatron nodded, watching her closely. Kate sighed, looking up at the ceiling and wondering how to put it into words.

"There was this scene. After your grace was stolen, and you'd been human for a while." Kate glanced at Metatron to see if he was following, and had to look away from the peculiar look on his face. "You were struggling. Hungry. Digging in a dumpster for scraps. You finally found a sandwich, and you were overjoyed. Relieved. But then, right as you were going to take a bite, this dog whined. Begging for food. And you stopped, and you looked at the dog, knowing that he was hungry, how he felt, because _you_ felt it. And even though you were still hungry, you took the meat from the sandwich and fed it to the dog."

Kate looked away from the ceiling to gage Metatron's reaction to the anecdote. He looked frustrated, almost angry. When he caught her eye he said insistently, "But I'm _not_ that person."

Something in his voice sounded just a little broken, and Kate frowned thoughtfully. "No, you're not. But I think you could be." Metatron seemed to shrink a little at her words. "What brought this on, anyway?"

Metatron watched Kate a moment longer before turning and tapping a notecard pinned to the wall. "Dean Winchester goes to Hell."

Kate swallowed loudly, and Metatron shot her a grim look. It was beginning.

* * *

As long as everything went according to plan, they had about four months to kill before the road to the Apocalypse really started. Dean was in Hell now, sure, but angels wouldn't really get involved on Earth until he broke and Castiel raised him up. After that, she and Metatron would have to watch the proceedings closely. For now, it was the calm before the storm.

A week after Dean went to Hell, Metatron had tossed an amulet on a chain at her. Not expecting the assault, Kate watched the thing bounce off her forehead and into her lap. Metatron snickered quietly before sobering. "Put that on."

Kate lifted the necklace to examine it, tilting her head curiously. It was a simple leather cord with a small medallion about the size of a quarter, made of some wood she couldn't identify and covered in tiny, strange symbols. "What is it?"

"Extra protection." He eased himself into his chair and reached for his latest book. "Sam Winchester has been scrying for you."

"What?" Kate straightened immediately. "How? Why?"

Metatron rolled his eyes at her. He did this often enough that Kate was no longer offended, though. By this point the action was almost fond. "With magic, and because in the short time you spoke to the Winchesters, you A. said you were from the future, and B. clearly knew _both_ of them. He's trying everything to get his brother back, including looking for you."

Kate cursed, looking at the wall. "I hope this doesn't mess anything up."

"No offense, but I doubt you're that important," Metatron said dismissively. "Just put the necklace on."

Kate obeyed, but she wasn't happy about it.

* * *

At some point Metatron grew tired of her lack of appreciation for his literary references and began giving her books to read instead of letting her select her own. Kate didn't much mind, as it saved her the trouble of sifting through the dangerously tall stacks of books. She wasn't sure how Metatron managed to retrieve what he wanted without toppling the stacks like a Jenga tower, but she was beginning to suspect angel magic was involved.

Some of the books he gave her she happily read. Others she trudged through reluctantly, and still more she refused to read outright.

"You won't read Frankenstein," he'd said in disbelief when she'd handed the book back to him after reading only one chapter. "It's a classic!"

Kate wished she could read it, too, but the writing was too dense and dated for her to enjoy. "I'll stick to _Young Frankenstein_ , I think. Shelley's writing is too flowery. It's unreadable."

Most of the time, Metatron would accept her rejection of his selections with a judging grumble, a roll of his eyes, and a new book to read. Rarely, as was the case with Frankenstein, he would purse his lips and narrow his eyes and press a hand to her forehead, beaming the book in its entirety straight into her head. This always gave Kate a headache, but she would sooner take the headache than the hassle of poring over dull writing for hours, so she accepted the knowledge with grace.

In a way, she found it nice that Metatron took the time to do these things for her. Despite their vast differences, in age, and knowledge, and species, there were times when she talked with Metatron over one aspect of a story or some literary trope she'd noticed that she felt less like a reluctant partner he put up with and more like a friend.

After their first foray to the movie theater hadn't wrought any disastrous effects, Metatron was more willing to give in to Kate's suggestions of going out to the theater. To Metatron, these were new stories. To Kate, they were throwbacks to movies she'd enjoyed nearly a decade ago. Still, she enjoyed re-watching, and watching Metatron watch them for the first time.

One day, when they'd arrived early in the theater to ensure good seats for a showing of Burn After Reading, a couple who looked to be on a date scooted past them, fingers intertwined. Metatron scowled, crossing his arms and huddling into the seat. It was a more overt expression of distaste toward humanity than Metatron had ever expressed in front of Kate, and she raised an eyebrow at him curiously. He caught the look immediately, and his jaw worked silently for a moment before he spoke.

"These people think I'm your father," he grumbled, gesturing vaguely at the dozen other movie-goers scattered through the theater.

Kate blinked, momentary surprise at the casual telepathy he was exercising distracting her from his words at first. When she processed his words, she frowned, unsure why that would matter, let alone warrant Metatron's sulking. "Does that bother you?" Then she added, jokingly, "You're more than old enough."

Metatron shot her a short glare, muttered something about his vessel that Kate didn't quite catch, and sulked as the lights went down.

* * *

On a bright day in mid-August, Kate stumbled into Metatron's room, already drunk at four in the afternoon. Metatron raised an eyebrow as Kate dodged the stacks of books clumsily, lacking the grace she'd acquired with experience navigating his labyrinth.

"Are you drunk?"

Kate nodded, collapsing into the unoccupied armchair with a lazy smile. "Yep."

Metatron's lips pulled up at one corner, a bemused half-smile. "May I ask why?"

Kate sighed, closing her eye contentedly. "Celebrating."

Metatron blinked. Kate opened her eyes and could see the cogs turning in his mind as he tried to come up with some reason why and coming up blank. "Celebrating what?"

"I'm 28," Kate informed him seriously.

Metatron stared at her. "So?"

Kate scoffed disbelievingly at him. " _So_ , yesterday I was only 27."

"Oh, now I understand," Metatron said in a mocking tone that Kate knew, even in her drunken state, meant he did _not_ understand.

She scoffed again. "You angels have no appreciation for birthdays. Probably 'cause you're too old…" Kate sat up a little, realizing something absurd. "Oh my God, you're _older_ than birthdays." The notion that Metatron and the other angels were older than any human calendar, and therefore the concept of birthdays, was for some reason incredibly funny to her. After a good few minutes of laughter, Kate's chuckles trailed off and she sighed, looking morose.

Metatron eyed her cautiously, wary of the sudden change in mood. "What's wrong with you now?"

Kate grunted and re-arranged herself so she could curl up in the chair, grasping her knees with her arms and resting her head on them. "It just hit me that I'll probably never see my family again." Metatron looked uncomfortable at this declaration. Kate wondered if he thought she was going to cry. She wasn't. The idea inspired a sort of melancholy longing, not a sharp pain. She wondered if it would grow or fade over time. "I only saw them a few times a year, anyway, but we always made time to get together on birthdays."

Metatron looked speculatively between the book he'd been reading before Kate entered and Kate herself. Finally he put the book away, folded his hands on his knees, and nodded at her expectantly. "Tell me about them."

Kate eyed him uncertainly. She didn't think he'd be particularly interested in her life in her own world, but she supposed a story was a story. She shrugged.

"Well, there's my Dad, my brother, my mother, and me," Kate said, then added, "And now my brother's wife and kids."

"Is your brother older or younger?" Metatron's voice was patient, but he did sound interested in the answer, which relieved Kate.

"Older by a year." Kate smiled fondly. "When we were little everyone thought we were twins."

"You're close, then," Metatron said, and Kate furrowed her brow at… something in his voice. Longing, maybe? She was too inebriated to dwell on it, so she dismissed it.

"Not really. Not anymore." She shrugged at Metatron's raised eyebrow. "There's no interesting story, there. I moved farther from home, Mark got married. Life goes on. We still love each other, but his life is… domesticity, and work, and kids. When we were children, going through school and living together, we were closer."

"And your parents?"

Kate sighed gustily. "Exhausting. Well, my mother is. I think you might understand that a bit, actually," she said thoughtfully, tilting her head at Metatron.

"How so?" He asked, clearly humoring her.

"My brother and I take after our Dad," Kate said, quite seriously. "That is, highly logical and somewhat empathically deficient. My mother is… hmm. Highly emotional and more than a little unbalanced."

Metatron's eyes narrowed curiously. "And what makes you think I would understand that?"

Kate blinked at him slowly. "Isn't that what humans in general are like, to you? Emotional and chaotic?" Kate grimaced, imagining trying to live in a world filled with people like her mother. She'd hide in a room full of books, too, she thought.

Metatron frowned, seeming to recognize the tone of voice Kate used when she parroted his own words that he'd never said back to him, and his eyes grew darker, mores solemn. "I wish you would stop comparing me to this… idea of me that you have in your head."

Kate straightened, the serious tone sobering her a little, and she squinted at Metatron, trying to read his face. She supposed it would feel unfair, to be judged for things she'd never done or said. But, at the same time, she couldn't ignore Metatron's capacity to do those things. He was too dangerous.

"I don't know if I can," Kate said apologetically. Metatron leaned back, eyes tight, and Kate explained. "It's just… if I throw out everything I think I know about you from what I've seen of what might happen in the future, then I barely know you at all. And I think that scares me more than knowing what you're capable of."

Metatron glanced away from her, towards the wall. Kate suspected he was less looking at it, than looking away from her, and let him be. Finally he said, "You are. Emotional, and chaotic." Kate waited, because that seemed like the beginning of something. "But that's what makes your stories so compelling."

Kate smiled. "I think that's why I really came to you, you know." Metatron snapped his head back to look at her, eyes sharp. "Your love of stories. Even…" Kate flapped a hand at the latter half of the wall, as if to say 'even with the things you did, or haven't done'. "I was very fond of you."

"You liked _me_?" Metatron sounded disbelieving. He followed her gaze, frowning darkly at the latter half of the wall. "Nebbishy little Metatron, hiding in his stacks of books? Betraying Castiel, trying to rule Heaven…"

"Very much so," Kate agreed, nodding towards the very end of the wall, where Metatron's redemption was tacked in bright colors. "Especially at the end."

"What about now?" Metatron asked quietly, looking very small. Kate tilted her head at him in question. "You've changed the course. I'll never do any of those things. I'm not brave. I'm not a leader, or a hero. I'm just a bad writer." He paused, then added, voice shaking a little, "The angel closest to the door."

Kate was not sure what to do. In human interactions, when she saw someone this upset, she would offer some sort of physical contact—a hug, or a squeeze of the hand. When she couldn't find words, the primal human need for touch offered comfort where she couldn't. But Metatron, she'd noticed, seemed extremely reluctant to touch her, and she was afraid reaching out to him would only make things worse. She grimaced, and attempted words.

"Fuck God."

Metatron looked like he'd been slapped. Kate counted this a good sign. "Seriously, fuck God. He gave up, and ran away, and because of the mess he left behind you've been hiding on Earth for centuries. I get that he's your father, and you love him, and want his approval, but you don't _need_ it. His approval doesn't _matter_."

Kate was actually becoming a little angry on Metatron's behalf the longer she talked, which was probably good, because anger was one of the few emotions she was familiar enough with to run with. Metatron was watching Kate warily, as if she might be struck by lightning at any moment. Struck by sudden inspiration, Kate levered herself out of her chair, strode to the wall, and began yanking down all the notes about Metatron's actions.

Metatron shot up to follow her, staring in horror, fingers twitching at his side as if he wanted to stop her but couldn't quite bring himself to. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You want _me_ to stop comparing you to this guy?" Kate crumpled a notecard in her hand and tossed it behind her carelessly. "Then _you_ need to stop comparing yourself to him. You'll never be him. What might have happened doesn't matter anymore." Kate tore the last notecard with Metatron's name on it, his death, to the ground, and turned to face him. "All that matters now are the decisions you make, and whether _you_ can be proud of them. No one else."

Metatron's eyes remained fixed on the notecards scattered on the ground. He looked… lost, Kate thought. And so, despite her previous decision to respect his personal space, she reached out to him. Slowly, so he could jerk away if he wanted to. She thought at first to reach out for his hand, but something stopped her. Instead, she lifted her hand to his face. Slowly, ever-so-gently, she pressed two fingers against his temple.

Metatron shuddered. His eyes snapped to Kate's, looking almost panicked. Whatever he saw in Kate's expression had him closing his eyes and releasing a long, shaking breath. He didn't pull away, and so Kate simply stood there, her fingers a warm press on his forehead, for long minutes, while Metatron stood with his eyes closed and heaved deep breaths.

Eventually—and Kate couldn't tell how long it lasted—Metatron raised his own hand and gently removed Kate's hand from his temple. Before Kate could pull her hand back, he opened his eyes, looking much more calm. He squeeze Kate's fingers, once, dropped her hand, and told her to get some sleep.

* * *

The singular point of contact was like a lifeline. Warm, and bright. Almost like the warmth of God's presence. Almost.

Metatron expected Kate to take her fingers away quickly, like the hurried press of his own fingers to her head in the past—short, efficient, cold. But her hand was steady, and after several long minutes of deep breathing Metatron realized that she wasn't going to take her hand away. Not until he moved. She would stand there, offering this comfort, until he broke the contact.

He wondered how long he could hold on to it. Minutes? Hours? Days?

But eventually his breathing slowed, and the hurt and panic and self-doubt that had welled in him slowly drained away, chased out by the warmth of Kate's fingers on his skin, and he couldn't justify the contact any longer.

He should pull away. Any second now. A tiny step back, and the contact would be broken.

But that seemed too harsh, too sudden a break, so he eased out of it instead. He reached up and grasped Kate's hand in his. Narrow, all bones, but warm. He brought her fingers away from his temple. He felt the weight of her gaze, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her, didn't want to risk seeing pity or something worse in her face. As long as he didn't look at her in the eyes, he could imagine they were soft, and kind, and accepting.

Like the touch.

It took an enormous amount of effort to let her hand drop, but he managed it, squeezing her hand only once, gently, before telling her to get some sleep. Because he couldn't be around her any longer tonight.

She left. Metatron felt cold.

In the following days, Metatron found a good many more classic books that Kate ought to read, but refused to slog through, and so it was utterly necessary for him to press his hand to her face every other day or so. And if Kate happened to notice that those touches lingered a little longer than they had in days before, she was kind enough not to mention it.

* * *

It was September when Kate was startled awake in the early morning by Metatron opening the door to her room and flicking on the lights. The nerves clear in his posture and expression halted any complaints she would have made about interrupting her sleep. At his words, she sat up, wide awake.

"Dean Winchester is saved."

Kate tugged a robe on over her nightclothes and followed Metatron back to his rooms, where he collapsed in his usual armchair with a distant look that she had come to associate with him listening to angel radio. It was only four in the morning, but there was no way she was getting back to sleep, so she made coffee in Metatron's postage stamp of a kitchenette and then curled up in an armchair, watching Metatron silently.

It was a little eerie to watch him like this, with his mind so clearly elsewhere. Though Metatron spent most of his days reading, he was rarely completely still, like he was now. He would twist and rearrange himself in the armchair, changing posture or facial expressions according to the mood of whatever story he happened to be engaged in. When he spoke, he did so with his whole body, pacing and gesturing and talking with his hands. Listening to angel radio, though, he was almost unnaturally still—as if, if he so much as twitched, he'd be discovered in his eavesdropping.

Sunlight was beginning to creep in through the windows past the towers of books when Metatron blinked, returning to the present.

"Any news?"

Metatron frowned and shook his head. "It's begun, but all the chatter is about stopping the seals from breaking." He stood and strode over to the timeline on the wall, frowning thoughtfully at it. "The all-angel broadcasts will be useful for figuring out where we are and if events deviate from what we have here, but they won't have anything useful about the angels in the know. The ones actually working toward the apocalypse on purpose."

"Makes sense, I suppose," Kate said, trailing after Metatron and stopping about a foot away, following his gaze to the notes on the wall and the next major event to look out for. "How long 'til the rise of the witnesses, do you think?"

"A few weeks, maybe." Metatron looked tired. "If that."

Kate fingered her coffee cup agitatedly, though the dregs in the bottom had long since gone cold, and caught Metatron's eye. "Do you think they'll be looking for you now?"

Metatron looked only resigned at the question. Kate figured the possibility had already occurred to him. "Yes," he said simply. "But they haven't found me yet, and as long as things go according to plan, they won't."

Kate attempted a smile. "I guess that means no more sneaking out to the movies, then."

Metatron didn't smile. He stared at the mess on the wall, as if looking at it longer and more closely would make it reveal something new he hadn't considered. Kate figured that couldn't be healthy, even for an angel, and nudged Metatron gently with her shoulder. He jumped, looking startled, and Kate backed up a step, smiling apologetically.

"Staring at it won't help anything now."

Metatron glanced back at the wall, then cast his eyes over the room. The usual satisfaction that showed in his eyes when he surveyed the sheer amount of books he'd accumulated was absent. "I'm not in the mood to read."

Now that was downright alarming.

"Uh. Okay. How about you tell me a story, then?" Metatron looked unamused, but raised a hand. Kate dodged it, and Metatron stared at her, uncomprehending. " _Tell_. Not beam it into my skull."

Metatron stared a moment longer, then ground out, "Fine." He stalked over to the table next to his reading chair, sorting through the books he'd read recently or intended to read next.

"That's not what I meant," Kate said patiently. Metatron shot her an impatient look over his shoulder. "Not read. _Tell_. Tell me a story." Kate eased herself into her own chair, curling up and watching Metatron carefully. "One only you would know."

"Like what?"

Kate shrugged. "Whatever you like. A story about Heaven. Your time on Earth. The birth of your favorite star." It was bizarre for Kate to think about just how very old Metatron truly was, but surely in all of his time he had a story or two if his own to tell.

Metatron sat and folded his fingers against his lips, thinking. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. He told her about language.

Before Enochian, there was another. Something primal, and powerful, spoken only by God and Death and the Darkness. When God first created the archangels, he tried to speak it—but the sound of that First Tongue was as deafening and destructive to the archangels as an angel's true voice is to humans, and so God created Enochian.

"It's my first language, the language of angels, and I'll always love it," Metatron said fondly, "but I must admit that English is my favorite."

"Why?" Kate asked, genuinely curious.

"Firstly, because it has the greatest number of published books, including many of my favorites." Metatron waved his hand around the room. "But also because it's this wonderful, messy hodge-podge of borrowed words, each with their own special meaning and connotation. It has nuance, style, finesse. Enochian is…" Metatron gestured vaguely. "Functional. It conveys information, but not _emotion_."

"How do you mean?"

Metatron leaned forward, eyes light and alive with passion. "I mean that Enochian doesn't distinguish between like, love, or admire. There's no difference between a smile or a grin, or between sadness, or grief, or despair," Metatron waved his hands animatedly, and Kate smiled at the motion. "There is no poetry in Enochian."

Kate's smile slowly faded as she thought about the implications of Metatron's words. She couldn't help but think the pure functionality and rejection of emotion in Enochian reflected the attitude of angels overall: functional, following orders without question or doubt. She wondered if, had they been able to converse in English, the conflict that had the world teetering on the brink of destruction would ever have happened at all. Could either Lucifer or Michael express their frustrations if there were simply no words for such things?

Kate shook her head, banishing the thoughts. No use dwelling on what might have been. The apocalypse was on their doorstep.


	4. Love

" _It's Valentine's week, when the Greendale Human Being is the Cupid Being, delivering your gift to that special someone. But, remember, Cupid's face is magic marker on nylon, so love is not only blind but also dizzy and a little belligerent." - Dean Pelton, Community_

* * *

As the weeks progressed and Metatron spent more and more time listening to angel radio, Kate made special attempts to distract him from the helplessness he no doubt felt at letting everything play out. Whenever Metatron would stare too long at the wall, or started to grow disinterested in his books, Kate asked for stories. After the second time Metatron caught on to her distraction tactics, but he allowed it nonetheless, so Kate assumed it must, on some level, cheer him up to tell the stories.

After a while, either because he was beginning to run out of stories or because he was truly interested, Metatron asked for a story from Kate, and they began to take turns. Metatron told her about evolution, and civilization, and how humans had begun to tell stories, while Kate shared stories of her childhood, family Christmases, and how she had acquired the various scars on her body.

"Have you ever been in love?" Metatron asked on one of these occasions. Kate scowled automatically at the question, and Metatron's eyebrows rose at what was, for Kate, a particularly transparent emotional response.

"I'm not sure," she said finally.

Metatron's eyebrows rose further. "That's not what that looked like."

Kate huffed a breath through her nose, casting a narrow-eyed look at Metatron. He looked genuinely curious, and only seemed to be growing more fascinated at Kate's reaction, leaning forward intently. Though Kate suspected he'd let the subject drop if she truly insisted that she didn't want to talk about it, she was sure her refusal to speak would only feed his curiosity. Best to just sate it, she thought, resigned.

Kate stood, rolling her shoulders and stretching until she heard a few satisfying pops. "If we're going to have this conversation, I will require alcohol." She walked to her room and grabbed a bottle of wine—and then, after staring at the bottle thoughtfully for a long moment, a second. When she returned, Metatron's gray eyes were twinkling with the barely-restrained excitement of a child at Christmas.

"I would like to make it very clear," Kate said sharply as she worked the cork out of the first bottle with a 'pop', "that I do not like any part of this story. I don't like who I was, or who I was with, or what happened." Kate poured a large glass of wine and gulped half of it down immediately, savoring the warmth in her stomach. She refilled the glass, then set the bottle aside and curled up in her armchair.

Metatron propped his chin on one fist and waved for her to go on.

"To preface this," Kate began flatly, "I never dated in high school. As a child, I never liked people my own age. I didn't relate to my peers, and I didn't see the point in having a relationship in school when we were all just going to move away for college at the end of it all. Why start something if it wouldn't last?" Kate shrugged. "Which is not to say that I didn't have feelings for anyone. I spent half of high school infatuated with one of my closest friends, but I never told her or acted on it because of the reasoning I just outlined, and because I am a deeply repressed person who would rather pine silently for someone than risk being rejected." Kate glanced at Metatron. "Are you following still?"

"Her?" Metatron repeated, as if to confirm the small detail.

"Mm," Kate agreed. Metatron gestured for her to continue. "I didn't have my first kiss until 16, and it was my only kiss for years. So when I started college, I was alone, inexperienced, and basically a ticking time bomb of anxiety and self-doubt." Kate grimaced. "Disaster waiting to happen."

Metatron hummed, eyeing Kate skeptically. She took a deep gulp of wine. "What?"

"I find it hard to picture you the way you're describing."

"That's because you've only ever seen me with self-confidence." Kate wrinkled her nose, remembering her gawky, 18 year old self when she'd started college. "I'm not good with people now and probably never will be. I've accepted that. Then, I _agonized_ over it, ridiculously. I hated eating in the dining halls, because I was afraid people were watching me, judging. I would make plans to go to an event, to try to make friends, and spend the day trying to work myself up to it, only to become so terrified of rejection and my own inability to function that I paced back and forth in my dorm room until I cried in frustration and decided not to even try." Kate swigged more wine and raised an eyebrow at Metatron. "Do you have a sufficiently good picture of young Kate?"

Metatron nodded absently, looking almost spellbound. Kate snorted. "Right. So one day I manage to work up enough bravery to go to a social event on campus, a movie club sort of thing. Everyone seems to make fast friends with each other and I just sit there in a corner, unable to talk to anyone, scolding myself silently for how worthless and pathetic I am." Kate paused, for dramatic effect and for wine. "And then along comes _David_."

Kate pursed her lips, remembering that first meeting. "He was just being nice, really. Spotted a socially awkward freshman sitting alone at a club meeting and chatted with me, trying to get me to open up. And I did, a bit, but only to him. We talked pleasantly, and he walked me back to my dorm room, and I was just _giddy_ , because it was the first positive attention I'd received from anybody for months. When he was looking at me, I felt wanted, and appreciated, and worthy."

Kate paused at that to refill her glass. Metatron watched, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes curiously at the tone in her voice at her last words. "What happened?"

Kate twisted her mouth. Instead of answering the question directly, she said first, frankly. "In the years since this occurred, I have learned that broken, hurting people tend to gravitate towards each other. Sometimes this is good. Healing." She paused. "This was not one of those times.

"David, for all that he was good at making people feel special, and heard, was something of a pathological liar. He would lie to friends, and to family, in ways that painted him as a sympathetic victim, rather than the manipulative drug addict that he was. And I, being young and stupid, saw these flaws in him, but thought how special I must be that he always told _me_ the truth."

Metatron actually winced at that, and Kate nodded. "I know," she sighed. "Anway, this went on for… a year? A year and a half? He got a DUI halfway through and was kicked off campus, dropped out of school. And _still_ I stayed with him. Visited him, drove him places. I used him, unknowingly, for the validation and confidence I didn't have myself, and he used me for money, transportation, emotional support. Codependent, in the worst way."

Kate paused there, chewing her lip thoughtfully and wondering how to phrase what happened next. Finally Metatron prompted, "What changed?"

Kate smiled grimly. "He jumped off a parking garage."

Metatron was visibly surprised at her words, and a little unsettled by the look on her face. "Don't look at me like that. He lived. I'm not _that_ callous."

"Okay, fine." Metatron leaned back in his armchair, still eyeing her skeptically. "So your boyfriend jumps off a parking garage."

"Well, he didn't die," Kate repeated, "but he was in the hospital for a long time. He didn't want me to see him all broken like that, and I didn't know what hospital he was in, so I didn't see him for close to three months. And in that time, something wonderful happened."

Kate smiled genuinely this time. Metatron leaned forward, and so did she, as if imparting a secret. "I realized I didn't _need_ him. He was gone, and I was on my own, and I was pretty much just fine. I'd made some friends already and was more emotionally stable by that point. I don't know that I would have realized how strong I'd become if I hadn't had the support I'd depended on yanked from me so suddenly."

Metatron tilted his head. "And what about David?"

Kate shrugged, then grimaced. "When he finally let me see him in the hospital, I broke up with him right there. Never saw him again after that. I think he moved away, but I never cared to find out where."

Metatron hummed thoughtfully and leaned back in his chair again, hands clasped together and seemingly chewing over the story. Kate watched him turn it over in his mind, sipping her wine and feeling a bit better for having been able to rant about it.

With another human, she might have held back a bit more. Her limited empathy and general lack of filter made her look like a sociopath to other people, and so she generally avoided talking about that period of her life, even though it had been formative in her personal development. David's pathological lying was one of the reasons she hated lies so much, and thus never told anything but the truth herself.

Finally, Metatron pointed a finger at Kate with a thoughtful frown. "You said you weren't sure."

Kate blinked, taking a moment to place the bit of conversation he was referring to. "If I'd been in love?" Kate hummed. "I don't really count the thing with David as love. I certainly _thought_ I loved him at the time, but looking back, I didn't really. I loved the feeling of being valued, and seen. I loved some idea of him that I'd constructed in my mind."

Metatron smiled a small, crooked smile. "What about the girl in high school?"

Kate huffed in amusement. "Probably a little closer."

Metatron stared at Kate for a long while, then, some unspoken question on his face. Kate raised an eyebrow at him, and Metatron glanced away, shrugged a little, and then looked back at her uncertainly. "Was David the only one you ever…"

Kate blinked. "Ever, what?"

Metatron huffed a frustrated breath. "Had sex with."

Kate was surprised at the question. "I never slept with David."

Metatron frowned in confusion. "But you're not a virgin."

He said it, not as a guess, but with certainty. Kate's eyebrows rose. "Is that something you found in my mind, or can angels tell that just by looking?"

Metatron smirked a little. "We can tell."

Kate barked a short laugh. "Wow. Okay. No, David was too high to get it up. When I turned twenty I got sick of having the 'virgin' label following me around, so I hooked up with some very willing friends of mine."

Metatron's brows shot up at the plural. Kate grinned at him and he looked away, cheeks going faintly pink.

* * *

"What on Earth are you doing?"

Metatron had been silent while Kate had begun to dismantle a few of his stacks of books, clearing a space by one of the windows, and restack them in some bizarre fashion, waiting for her to volunteer an explanation on her own. Apparently he'd tired of waiting.

Kate shot him a grin over her shoulder, stacking another book. "I am constructing a Christmas tree out of books."

Christmas had snuck up on Kate that year. It was already mid-December before she realized the time of year, and for lack of anywhere to put a Christmas tree, Kate had instead decided to create one from the many stacks of books in Metatron's rooms.

Metatron rolled his eyes, but left her to it, burying his nose in one of his books again. Kate hummed Christmas carols as she worked, and in an hour had constructed a distinctly tree-shaped formation of books that was a few inches taller than she was. She stretched, satisfied with her work, and turned to find Metatron watching her, amused, with a book in hand.

"Here. For the top." Kate accepted the book, lips quirking at the cover. While the title was unfamiliar to her, the cover is what was important: a large, prominent star.

"You know, my mother always insisted on putting an angel on top of the tree," Kate teased.

Metatron scowled, though his eyes were light. "I am not a tree-topper."

Kate laughed at his grumbling and stretched to place the book on her makeshift tree, cover facing outwards to display the star. "Thank you, Metatron."

Metatron cleared his throat and glanced away, but smiled. "You're welcome."

* * *

The end of the month came. Kate spent New Year's Eve alone in her room, making fun of the announcers running the live show on television to no one and polishing off most of a bottle of champagne.

The next morning, a little hung-over, she pitched something to Metatron she'd been mulling over for a few weeks.

"Save Gabriel?" Metatron didn't look scandalized at the idea, but he didn't look exactly enthusiastic, either. Kate nodded. "Do you have any idea the sort of impact that could have?"

Kate had thought about it for a long time. She desperately wanted Gabriel to survive the apocalypse. He'd always been one of her favorite characters, and now that he was _real_ , she couldn't stand it if she just sat back and let him die when she had the power to stop it. But it wasn't exactly without its risks.

"I think it's a risk worth taking."

Metatron waved a hand toward the intricate spider web of string and note cards on the wall. "A butterfly so much as flaps its wings and this whole delicate thing could come tumbling down. And Gabriel is a _big_ butterfly."

"Look, the whole point of letting the apocalypse play out in the first place is so that Hell isn't a player when Heaven falls into civil war," Kate reasoned. "The way it is now, that puts Castiel up against Raphael, an _archangel_. And I, for one, don't want him to have to swallow half the souls in Purgatory and release the Leviathans for him to stand a chance. We save Gabriel, and he shouldn't have to."

Metatron watched her closely for a long moment, then sighed. "How do you propose we save him?" He looked Kate up and down skeptically. "You gonna stand between him and Lucifer's blade?"

Kate shuddered at the idea of meeting Lucifer in battle and hastily shook her head. She didn't want to be disintegrated. "I was thinking more along the lines of summoning him and tipping him off before the meeting of the gods takes place. Avoid the whole thing, maybe keep some powerful pagan god allies around in case the whole Heavenly war thing doesn't go smoothly."

Metatron wrinkled his nose at the mention of the pagan gods and walked to the relevant portion of the timeline, tracing his fingers along strings and muttering to himself. Kate watched him work through the possibilities, anxious.

Finally Metatron turned. He nodded.

Kate sighed in relief, and Metatron arched an eyebrow at her. "Big fan, are we?"

Kate rubbed her forehead tiredly. "Honestly, yes. But I don't want my attachment to him as a character to screw up the entire world, either, so if you had said it was a bad idea…" It would have killed her to do it, but she would have let Gabriel walk to his death if it meant saving the world. She was glad Metatron, who was more impartial, had given her the go-ahead to tip him off.

Metatron looked surprised, but pleased, that she had put the decision in his hands. "I sometimes forget that this was entertainment for you, rather than some prophecy."

"It's still hard for me to believe that this is real," Kate admitted, "especially when I'm so far from the main events. I'm not really seeing any of this happen. I'm still just a distant spectator."

Metatron hummed, fingers still walking along a bit of string which connected some of the various seals of the apocalypse. "For a television show, it's pretty convoluted."

"Yeah, but it made up for it with good characters." Kate laughed, catching Metatron's eye. "You know, when I first saw it I thought the whole angel thing was jumping the shark?"

"That doesn't surprise me," Metatron said, though he smiled. He cast Kate a speculative look. "Good characters, huh? Who was your favorite, then?"

Kate's smile dropped a watt and she shoved her hands in her pockets. "I'll tell you, but I ask you to keep in mind that this was a television show, and I love a good antagonist." Metatron raised an eyebrow, expectant. "You, Gabriel, and Crowley were my top three."

"The demon?" Metatron asked skeptically, though he puffed up a little at being in the top three. Kate wondered if he realized that she'd filed him under the 'antagonist' category.

"Yes, the demon. He's charismatic, wears a sharp suit, and has a great accent. He's a clever survivor who's always a few steps ahead of his opponents. Bad guy, great character."

Metatron accepted this reasoning with a shrug. "I just find it amusing that the show is ostensibly about Sam and Dean Winchester, and neither of them cracked your top three."

"Sam's number five." Kate said immediately, but had to think about Dean's ranking. "Dean is… seven."

Metatron quirked a brow. "Who are four and six?"

"Ah. Lucifer and Castiel, respectively."

" _Lucifer's_ your number four," Metatron repeated, disbelieving.

Kate shrugged unapologetically. "Like I said. Love a good antagonist." She frowned at the coming carnage outlined on the wall. "Though I prefer them in my stories, rather than my life."

"That makes two of us."


	5. Psychic

_Allison Reynolds: Your middle name is Ralph, as in puke, your birth date's March 12th, you're 5'9 and a half, you weigh 130 pounds and your social security number is 049380913._  
 _Andrew Clark: Wow. Are you psychic?_  
 _Allison Reynolds: No._  
 _Brian Johnson: Well, would you mind telling me how you know all this about me?_  
 _Allison Reynolds: I stole your wallet._

 _-Breakfast Club_

* * *

Months passed. Seals broke. Metatron continued to spend his days half-listening to angel radio for updates on the progress of the apocalypse while Nell kept an eye on the news, looking for reassurance that the story would play out as she knew it.

Finally, in early May, Sam killed Lilith and broke the final seal. Lucifer was released.

The knowledge ate at Kate. It was her plan to let this all play out, but she would sleep much easier at night if she wasn't so painfully aware that her plan involved allowing Lucifer to kill hundreds of people. She vividly remembered him sacrificing an entire _town_ to summon Death, and while he hadn't done it yet, she wasn't doing anything to stop him. If things progressed as Kate thought they would, Lucifer _would_ kill all those people.

And the other horsemen would kill people, too. Innocent people, people Kate might have been able to save if she'd gotten more involved. If she wasn't hiding away in a hotel in Colorado, could she have stopped the Apocalypse entirely? Made this whole thing unnecessary?

She reasoned with herself that that was ridiculous. She was just one human, no matter her level of foreknowledge. She didn't have a chance stopping this from happening, not when Heaven and Hell were both pushing for the Apocalypse.

But Sam and Dean were just humans, too, and she was counting on them to stop the Apocalypse. The Apocalypse that, through her inaction, she'd _allowed_ to happen. What made them so different from her? What made them uniquely capable of standing up to the forces of Heaven and Hell when she, herself, couldn't? Was it destiny or determination that set them apart?

Needless to say, Kate didn't sleep much.

Metatron, on the other hand, wasn't 'awake' much. Not that he was sleeping. He often turned his full attention to angel radio, sitting unnaturally still, eyes distant and pale. Kate found it a bit unnerving to be around him when he was in this state, like Metatron had become some bizarre living furniture.

A few weeks following Lucifer's rise, Metatron snapped from this angel radio-induced daze with a frown. "I've lost the Winchesters." He glanced at the wall. "Castiel must have finally warded them."

There was a quiet discontent in his tone. Likely he was remembering that Castiel could only ward the Winchesters against angels because he was alive, and he was only alive because God had chosen to piece him back together. What made Castiel so special that it was worth God's time to reassemble him, he must wonder.

Before she came to this universe, Kate would have suggested it was because fans simply liked Castiel too much to let him die. Now, she didn't know what made one angel worth saving above others.

"I thought warding didn't work the same way for you," Kate said instead of voicing any of those thoughts.

Metatron waved a dismissive hand. "As the Scribe of God I _could_ erase it. But Castiel would be suspicious if the warding he carved into their ribs suddenly vanished. Not to mention the fact that it would make the Winchesters visible to all the other angels as well." He shot her a significant look, as if to say, _Is that what you want?_

It most certainly wasn't.

"Okay, good point," Kate drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. "What do we do now, then?"

She thought she might go mad if she knew the apocalypse was about to happen, but couldn't follow the main events. From a more practical standpoint, ignorance about what was happening meant she wouldn't be able to intervene if events diverged from their outline.

"I keep my ear tuned to angel radio and you keep an eye on the news, I suppose." Metatron didn't look particularly happy about the situation. Kate wasn't, either. She took comfort in the fact that, at least so far, everything had gone according to plan.

* * *

One day in October, Metatron visited Kate in her room. The last time he had done so, Dean had risen from Hell, and so when she opened the door at his knock she was prepared for panic. What she found instead was more puzzling. Metatron looked more pained than panicked, pale and slightly off balance.

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

Metatron shook his head as if to clear it. "I believe this is what you would call 'Changing Channels.'" He grimaced, leaning on the doorframe and pressing a hand to his forehead. "It's like… ripples. Vibrations. But it's definitely him."

"Gabriel?" Kate clarified. "You're feeling Gabriel's power?" She didn't know that was even possible.

"Yes." Metatron's voice was strained. There was stress in the lines around his eyes. "If you want to avert his death, you'll have to reach out to him soon."

"Right," Kate agreed, but she was thoroughly distracted by the state of Metatron. "But are you _okay_? You look sick. Is that even possible for you?" Kate's hands fluttered at her side as she tried to decide whether it was a good idea to touch Metatron and force him to sit down before he fell.

"I'm fine," he dismissed. Kate thought this would be more convincing were he not supporting himself on the doorway. "I've just been listening carefully for Gabriel's… frequency. And now that he's active, it's like a siren in my ear." Metatron pushed himself off the door frame, but the motion sent him too far back, and he stumbled.

Kate fisted her hands in Metatron's cardigan before his he could fall backwards and slam his head on the wall opposite her door. For a moment they both watched each other, silently surprised, as she held him up.

"I can't believe I'm saying this to an angel, but you're going to lay down and rest."

Metatron, not requiring sleep, had no bed in his rooms. Luckily, the room Kate had woken in so long ago and taken as her own was a double, so she slipped one of Metatron's arms around her neck and walked him to the spare bed. She supposed it showed how much the echoes of Gabriel's power were disturbing him that Metatron leaned into Kate's support without complaint and collapsed on the bed with a groan.

Kate wasn't sure what to do for him after that. Did an archangel-power hangover act like a migraine? Should she dim the lights? She decided it couldn't hurt and flicked them off, leaving only the dim light coming from behind the curtains to illuminate the room.

"This must be what sickness feels like," Metatron moaned, one arm draped over his eyes. "I don't like it."

Kate snorted. "If you've got enough energy to be dramatic, it can't be that bad."

Metatron grumbled, but even in the dark Kate could see that his lips had quirked up at the corners.

* * *

Kate took a deep breath and double-checked the ritual circle. She'd borrowed a car from someone in the Two Rivers tribe—from the state of it, she wasn't sure if it actually belonged to someone, or if it was unclaimed property left behind by some previous owner—to drive almost an hour away from the hotel. She'd found an abandoned warehouse where she didn't think she'd be disturbed, and got to work.

She was fairly sure she'd done everything right. The Norse runes were precisely as outlined in the diagram, and were bounded by a circle in the form of a giant snake swallowing its own tail. Outside that circle, unseen, was a ring of holy oil, just waiting to be lit. Inside, there was sizeable pile of sweets and a metal bowl for the ritual. Reaching just her hands inside the circle, Kate set fire to the wolf fur and snake venom in bowl and began to chant.

It was meant to summon Loki, not Gabriel. But since they were one and the same, and Kate didn't want to give away that she _knew_ that, she had located this spell intended to summon Loki, designed under the assumption that he was any other pagan god. Kate hoped it would work, and that she wouldn't have to resort to praying for Gabriel. That would surely start the conversation off on the wrong foot, if he even decided to show up.

The chant was long, and Kate took her time with it so she didn't fumble the words. When she was completely finished with the chant to invoke Loki five minutes later and nothing had happened, she tacked on, belatedly and in English, "I brought candy?"

"Next time, lead with the candy." Kate's breath caught at the sight of Gabriel stooping in the circle to pick up a Twix bar. It had worked. He was really there, and was _real_ , and it was great to see him but also this was a terrible plan and she hoped she survived it.

"Uh. Will do."

God, she hoped Metatron's warding against mind-reading worked on archangels. Gabriel cocked an eyebrow at her as she backpedaled. His eyes widened as she struck a match and dropped it in the holy oil, but he noticed it too late. The fire flared to life, and he was trapped.

Kate felt five inches tall when Gabriel's eyes landed on her, hard and angry, like molten gold.

"Sorry!" She hurriedly backed further away from the circle. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn't want to trap you but I was afraid you would zap away as soon as I said that I know who you are. Sorry."

"What do you want?" Gabriel bit out, unamused. She could believe, looking at the leashed fury in his gaze, that he was a being of primordial creation, older and more powerful than she could ever hope to comprehend.

"Uh." What _did_ Kate want? Oh, right. "You to not die."

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up in surprise for a moment, then he scoffed. "Not planning on it, sweetheart. Are we done here?"

Kate swallowed, cautiously approaching the edge of the fire. The flames reflected off of Gabriel's eyes in a truly haunting fashion. While Kate had always liked Gabriel when he was a character on Supernatural, in person he was terrifying. She had the horrible feeling that she'd caught a tiger by its tail, and now she couldn't risk letting go.

"Have you been invited to the meeting of the gods yet?"

Gabriel went very still, eyes narrowing. Probably not a good sign. "How do you know about that?"

"I know a lot of things," Kate said, clumsily dodging the question. "Including the fact that if you go, Lucifer will be there. He will slaughter everyone, and you will die." Gabriel scoffed, but Kate thought he was beginning to look a little unsettled, so she pressed on.

"I know about your little TV prank on the Winchesters, trying to get them to play their roles. I know your history with Kali. I know who _you_ are." Though she was still far too wary to say his true name out loud. "Please. You _can't_ go."

Gabriel frowned, though he seemed less overtly hostile, which Kate counted as a small win. "Let's pretend what you say is true," he allowed graciously. "I won't just let them die."

"Then don't," Kate said quickly, relieved that he was listening even a little bit. "Tip them off, tell them not to meet. Or keep the Winchesters away so the gods can't try to use them as leverage and make sure Mercury doesn't try to tip Lucifer off. _Anything_. Just know that if you try to stop Lucifer, he _will_ kill you."

"Who _are_ you?" Gabriel cocked his head to the side, fixing Kate with a narrow-eyed, suspicious look. "You're not a prophet."

"No," Kate agreed. "But I _have_ seen the future." Or something like it, anyway. Details.

"And I die," Gabriel said, still a little skeptical.

"Well, hopefully not now." Kate shifted awkwardly on her feet. "If I let you out of the holy fire, do you promise not to smite me?"

A mischievous grin bloomed on Gabriel's lips. It did not altogether put Kate at ease. "Scout's honor." He held up three fingers in a scout's salute.

Despite her misgivings, Kate grabbed a bucket of water she'd stashed nearby for this purpose and splashed it across the floor. The holy fire flickered and died. For a moment Kate held her breath, but Gabriel merely picked up his abandoned Twix bar and began to unwrap it, strolling casually out of the summoning circle with a raised eyebrow.

"That was all you summoned me for?" He asked, tearing off a bit of chocolate with his teeth and talking with his mouth full. "'Dear Loki, pretty please don't die?'"

"Mostly," Kate agreed. "And also to tell you that the Winchesters _can_ stop the Apocalypse. But you'll need to let them know about the rings and how they can put Lucifer back in the box."

Gabriel looked at her skeptically. " _I_ tell them this?"

Kate shrugged. "You made one of those cheesy "If you're watching this, I'm dead" videos before you went to face Lucifer."

"I did?" Gabriel looked vaguely disappointed in himself.

Kate felt a little bad for him, so she amended, "It was also a porn."

Gabriel's eyes lit up and a boyish grin stretched his lips. "Yeah, that sounds more like me." He took another bite of chocolate, then squinted at her exaggeratedly. "Nice artwork on your bones there, kiddo. Castiel's work?"

Kate shook her head. "How about I tell you when we've dodged the apocalypse?"

Gabriel snorted without much humor. "If you say so."

He turned, clearly about to leave, before Kate remembered the final thing she wanted to tell him. "Wait!"

Gabriel turned, impatience in the set of his mouth. Kate rushed her words out. "Lucifer's going to unleash Death in Carthage, Missouri. The Winchesters will be there, to try to shoot Lucifer with the Colt. Which won't work, obviously, but a few of their friends—Ellen and Jo Harvelle—they die in the attempt. If you happened to be in the area…"

Gabriel blinked slowly at her. "You _just_ warned me to stay away from Lucifer."

Kate shrugged helplessly. "I can't save them," she said softly. "Figured it couldn't hurt to ask."

Gabriel eyed her for a long moment, looking almost sad, then sighed gustily. "Whatever you say, kiddo. Give me a ring if the apocalypse gets canceled."

And then Gabriel was gone. And so, Kate noted with mild amusement, was the pile of candy.

* * *

The holidays came again, but Kate was too exhausted and worried to celebrate this year. The days grew darker and colder. Kate grew leaner, the bags under her eyes darker.

Death rose. Kate read the new reports of the 'tragic accident' in Carthage which had wiped out the whole town, and had to excuse herself partway through to vomit her guts out. But she went back to read more, because she ought to. Because she'd done nothing. She deserved to have their names and faces haunt her dreams, she thought.

Metatron let Kate torture herself for days, watching her with wary eyes, but on Christmas day he had enough. He tore her computer away from her with a scolding look and replaced it with a generously spiked cup of hot chocolate. Kate scowled at him, but she was too tired to put up too much of a fight. She sipped the hot chocolate sullenly.

"You'll be glad to know that the Harvelles are still alive," Metatron informed her.

It took Kate a moment to process that. "Really?" Some of the tension she'd been carrying in her shoulders for weeks relaxed, just a fraction. "I am glad to hear that. Gabriel must've come through."

"Well would it kill you to act like it?" Kate raised an eyebrow, and Metatron glared. "You've been walking around with a stormcloud over your head for weeks. Frankly? It's a little insulting."

"Insulting?" Kate repeated, baffled.

"Yes. Insulting." Metatron narrowed his eyes at her and pointed an accusing finger in her direction. "Acting like all those human deaths and everything else going on are your responsibility. Your self-flagellation is getting obnoxious, and it's more than a little conceited."

Now Kate was the one feeling insulted. "Excuse me for feeling conflicted about letting hundreds of innocent people die."

Metatron rolled his eyes. "Please. This isn't just about you, you know."

"I _never_ said—"

Metatron scoffed. "No, but you might as well have. Walking around feeling sorry for yourself, acting like your decisions are the only ones that matter." Metatron stood, and paced, and waved his arms animatedly as he spoke. He fixed Kate with an unimpressed stare. "What does that make me? Or Gabriel, or the Winchesters?"

Kate opened her mouth. Metatron narrowed his eyes at her, and she shut it. He continued.

" _Yes_ , you know more about what's going on and what's going to happen, but there's no sense beating yourself up over it. You're damned if you do and damned if you don't." Metatron ran a hand through his hair, and the curls stuck upwards toward the ceiling. "You change something, and it could ruin the timeline and end the world. Or you don't change something, so you can't save anyone. You made the best decision you could. So did I. So did Gabriel. You're not the only one whose actions matter in how this plays out. Everyone's doing the best they can, so could you please _stop moping_?"

Kate chewed her lip. She wanted to argue. A large part of her still believed she deserve to be miserable for the decisions she'd made, but Kate's weakness was logical arguments, and Metatron's reasoning was pretty solid.

"I'll try," she said finally.

Metatron's eyes widened dramatically. "A Christmas miracle!"

Kate huffed and aimed a slow, half-hearted kick in Metatron's direction, which he easily stepped away from. "Are you going to keep being a bitch, or are you going to come watch dated Christmas specials with me?"

Metatron hummed and tapped a finger to his lips, pretending to consider it. "Only if you promise to get drunk on eggnog and deliver a feminist rant about a stop-motion reindeer movie."

"Deal."

* * *

Sam said yes. Metatron found Kate in her room when it happened, and much like the time so many months ago when Dean rose from Hell, Kate joined him in his rooms for a tense vigil.

This was it. If events diverged from Kate and Metatron's meticulously detailed timeline now, there was little they would be able to do to stop the Apocalypse. Kate wondered, in the tense hours they waited to hear whether Sam would succeed in overpowering Lucifer and jumping back into the cage, what would happen if he failed. Would Gabriel fight his brothers to stop the end of the world? She doubted it. She also doubted she or Metatron be able to convince God to intervene. But maybe Gabriel could convince God to put a stop to the apocalypse? That idea might have some promise. Kate tucked it away in the back of her mind, just in case.

It was as the sun was setting the day after Sam said yes that Metatron shuddered a sigh of relief. "They did it." Metatron looked like a puppet with his strings cut, so relieved that he couldn't move a muscle, but his eyes shone brightly. "Lucifer and Michael are in the cage."

Kate sighed, and muttered the first thing that came to mind. "Oh, thank God."

There was an awkward pause. Kate winced at her phrasing, and Metatron gave her a dry look. "Come on, Kate. Give credit where it's due. Thank Winchesters."


	6. War Room

_President Merkin Muffley: Gentlemen! You can't fight in here! This is the War Room!_  
 _-Dr. Strangelove, Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb_

* * *

With the apocalypse averted, it was time to put their plan into action. Kate and Metatron had returned to the vacant warehouse Kate had used to summon Gabriel once before, and Metatron had spent a good hour warding the place thoroughly before he was satisfied with its security. Now, wards in place, it was time.

Kate glanced at Metatron one last time. He didn't look much more relaxed, but managed a reassuring nod, so Kate clasped her hands uncertainly and prayed for the first time since she'd first reached out to Metatron.

"Uh, dear Gabriel," she said aloud, feeling stupid. "You told me to give you a call if we averted the apocalypse, so… this is me. Calling."

"If it isn't my favorite fortune teller!" Kate unclasped her hands as Gabriel appeared with a muted 'fwoop' of wings. He swaggered in casually, like he wasn't literally the most powerful thing Kate had ever seen in her entire life.

"And is that _Metatron_?" Gabriel paused and squinted at Metatron, who shifted uncomfortably at the attention. "Have you been hiding on Earth this whole time?"

Metatron shrugged and managed an uneasy, self-deprecating smile. "Great minds."

"Huh." Gabriel eyed Metatron curiously a few seconds longer before glancing between the two of them and resting his gaze on Kate. "Okay, I give. What's the trick?"

Kate blinked. "Trick?"

"The _trick_ ," Gabriel repeating, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently. "What's your secret? How'd you know the script? 'Cause last _I_ knew, the script got thrown out the window and it was all ad-lib from there, but clearly _you_ had an updated copy, and I wanna know how." He pointed at Kate, smirk pulling at his lips like it was some sort of guessing game. "Was it time travel? Are you psychic?"

Now that Kate was meeting him in person she was beginning to find Gabriel less charming and more obnoxious. "I'm from another dimension where all of this is a television show."

Kate braced herself for disbelief. Gabriel stared blankly for only a fraction of a second, then hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. " _Of course_ you are. Why didn't I guess that?" He shrugged, seemingly unphased and not at all skeptical of Kate's explanation, then waggled his eyebrows. "Well? What happens next, O Wise One?"

Kate chewed her lip and glanced at Metatron, who was frowning faintly. "Was kind of hoping you'd help with that, actually."

"Oh?" Gabriel arched an eyebrow at her. Kate would really feel a lot better about that expression if he was making it from behind a ring of holy oil. It was hard to relax when she knew Gabriel could literally kill her with a snap of his fingers. Though, she supposed, so could Metatron.

Kate shifted on her feet. "What I've _seen_ happen is that Heaven falls into civil war, Castiel becomes the de facto leader of all the angels who _don't_ want to try to restart the apocalypse while all the pro-apocalypse angels are led against him by Raphael, and in an attempt to overpower Raphael's forces Castiel swallows half the souls in purgatory and accidentally sets Leviathans loose on the earth."

Gabriel blinked, once. "Okay…" Now _there_ was the skepticism and confusion Kate had been expecting.

Kate sighed. "And I would like for that not to happen."

Gabriel's previous humor drained away almost immediately, and he surveyed her seriously. "You want me to get involved with heaven," he said finally, disbelieving. " _Fight_ the only archangel brother of mine who's not currently locked in Hell?" His voice was beginning to rise toward the end, and Kate thought she saw the spectre of holy fire flickering in his eyes.

"Look, I know it's a big ask," she rushed out, "but this war is going happen, with or without you. Raphael, and a good number of other angels, want to restart the apocalypse. And I know you don't _really_ want that to happen. So you can help us—see this finished quickly, with as few casualties as possible, and maybe even be able to go home for this first time in… centuries?" Kate guessed. Gabriel's eyes were dark.

"Or you can leave, and we'll do this without you." Kate swallowed, fisting her hands at her sides. "And we may lose. Is that something you could live with?"

Gabriel was silent for a long time, which Kate found not at all reassuring. His eyes flicked briefly back and forth between Kate and Metatron, as if trying to read their intentions, but for the most part his gaze was distant. Eventually he said, softly, almost reluctant, "...I didn't think I'd ever go home."

Gabriel clapped his hands so suddenly and loudly that Kate jumped. Gabriel's lips tugged upwards smugly at the reaction. "Okay, fine. I'll help. What's the plan?"

Kate glanced uncertainly at Metatron. Gabriel followed the interaction with raised eyebrows. "You _do_ have a plan, don't you? Because if this was it—" Gabriel shook his head. "Hoo, boy."

"I mean, we don't _not_ have a plan," Kate defended. "I have some ideas, but I'm not an angel."

"And I'm no soldier," Metatron added, sounding resigned.

"I was hoping to call together you, Castiel, and Balthazar to lead the rebel angels, and help you locate weapons or tools to help you get the upper hand."

Kate expected Gabriel to ask about the weapons, but instead he furrowed his brow and asked, "Balthazar?"

Kate blinked. She got so used to talking to Metatron, who knew all the relevant plot points she did, that she was unaccustomed to explaining these things properly. "He faked his death sometime during the apocalypse and is currently living it up on earth," Kate explained. "He also stole some of Heaven's weapons on his way out."

Gabriel shot a crooked little grin in Metatron's direction. "We should start a club."

Metatron's smile was more of a grimace, so Kate kept talking. "I figure we get everyone together in a neutral location, tell them what we know—"

"Is this place neutral enough?" Gabriel interrupted. Kate paused, a little off-balance at teh interruption, and shrugged. Gabriel snapped his fingers, and suddenly there were two more angels in the room.

Kate cursed under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. She had been hoping to convince Gabriel and have him squarely on their team before bringing in Castiel and Balthazar, but she should have known that nothing would go according to plan now that she was working with _Loki_.

Castiel was wary, and his angel blade dropped into his hand immediately as he took in the room. Balthazar, meanwhile, looked distinctly disheveled and off-balance. His hair was rumpled and he wore no shoes.

Castiel's eyes locked on Gabriel, the only person in the room he was familiar with in his current form. "What is this?"

"Welcome to the rebellion, Castiel!" Gabriel spread his arms wide to gesture to the room at large, then nodded over Castiel's shoulder. "And Balthazar." Castiel whipped his head around to stare at Balthazar in shock. Balthazar shrugged, offering his fellow angel something of an apologetic grimace. "You did a good job blowing up the Death Star that was the apocalypse, but now we've got to stop the Empire before it can strike back."

"What Empire?" Castiel asked, distracted from his disbelief at Balthazar's survival by the pop culture reference. "And I have not blown up any stars."

Kate glanced at Metatron. He seemed to be in physical pain holding in his disdain for Castiel's lack of familiarity with Star Wars. Kate appreciated the effort.

"Would it kill you to watch a movie?" Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Okay, here's the deal: Raphael wants to restart the apocalypse. There's going to be a civil war in Heaven. Metatron and Kate here," Gabriel jerked his thumb at them, "know how it's supposed to play out, on account of Kate being from an alternate universe, and they want to make sure we win." He shot Kate a vaguely sardonic smile. "Did I get all that right?"

Kate sighed gustily. "Yeah, basically."

Castiel's eyes darted between Kate, Gabriel, and Metatron, serious and dark. "Explain."

Metatron stepped forward, to Kate's relief. She figured the other angels would trust this information more coming from Metatron than some mystery human, anyway. Metatron explained Kate's presence in this universe, the information she had provided him with, and what events would turn out like if they didn't act. He naturally left out his own failed attempt to take over Heaven, focusing instead on Castiel's ill-fated plan to harness the souls of purgatory and the accidental release of the Leviathans on Earth.

They all had questions, and Metatron answered them to the best of his ability. Even more impressive, he did so with minimal literature references and snark. After a while, the questions about the would-be restart of the apocalypse finally slowed.

"I have a question," Balthazar said lightly, hands in his pockets. "Metatron, you already have all of this information, yes?" Metatron nodded. "This is angel business. Why involve the human in this discussion at all?"

Kate rolled her eyes at the dismissive tone, but let Metatron speak, since clearly Balthazar didn't care what she had to say. Metatron, for his part, stood a little straighter. "Angels have a nasty habit of forgetting the human consequences of their actions."

"So what, she's our Jiminy Cricket?" Gabriel asked, eyebrow raised. Kate sighed, exasperated. Metatron considered it, and shrugged.

"Something like that."

"I don't understand." Castiel squinted at Kate, frowning. "She is no insect."

"He means I'm your conscience," Kate said tiredly. This was exhausting. Angels were exhausting.

"Yes, Castiel," Metatron needled. "After all, it wasn't so long ago that you wanted to smite a whole town to save one of the seals."

"And where were you during all of that?" Castiel's eyes were cold. "You clearly knew what was going to happen with the apocalypse, and yet you did nothing."

Kate repeated the same thing she'd told herself over the past several months to help her sleep at night. "There were too many vested interests on both sides wanting to make the apocalypse happen. If we'd intervened before Sam pulled Lucifer and Michael into the cage, we would've been discovered and killed—or worse," Kate cast a glance at Metatron, who would doubtless have been tortured for the secrets he'd committed to the tablets. "Now Hell is essentially a neutral party, and everyone can focus their attention on the conflict in Heaven—no Lucifer, no Michael, and keeping the battle off of Earth."

"Angels died," Castiel growled at Metatron, then glared at Kate. " _People_ died. Hundreds of innocent humans perished. And you are supposed to serve as our conscience?"

"Not everybody can be saved, Castiel," Metatron said. "You of all people should know that."

"What I want to know is what you think gives you the right to play God," Castiel said, voice fierce and quiet.

"Well, God certainly isn't doing it any more," Kate snapped. Gabriel flinched a little, but Castiel seemed to stand a little straighter.

"He intervened for me and the Winchesters. More than once."

"Forgive me if I don't take God piecing your atoms back together as a sign that you should be in charge of Heaven," Kate said flatly. Castiel took a threatening step forward. Kate's eyes went wide, and she backed up a step.

"Woah, okay!" Gabriel stepped forward, raising a hand and keeping a wary eye on Castiel. "Take a breath, kiddo. Use your words."

"How do we know you're even telling the truth?" Castiel bit out. "How can we trust you're not withholding information, manipulating us and guiding us down a predetermined path like you did with the apocalypse?"

"You don't," Metatron said simply. Kate rubbed her forehead, wondering when he'd decided to be deliberately unhelpful.

"That's not good enough," Castiel replied. His eyes went distant, and Kate thought he might be about to simply fly away.

"Wait!" She said quickly. "We can figure something out, surely—"

"There is no need." Castiel dismissed. "Raphael has asked to meet with me. I will reason with him. There may be no need to fight at all."

"That is a terrible idea, Castiel," Kate warned, alarmed. "He's an Archangel, he can destroy you with a snap of his fingers—"

"He is a brother," Castiel said firmly. "He will listen to reason, or I will make him." And then, with a small flutter of wings, he was gone.

"Fuck." Kate dug her fingers into her temple. She knew Castiel met with Raphael originally, but she couldn't predict how _this_ conversation might affect his behavior in _that_ conversation. What would he do? Would he still escape alive? "Fuck."

"Ah, Gabriel," Balthazar said hesitantly, "On a scale of one to ten, how likely is it, do you think, that Raphael will listen to reason?"

Kate removed her hands from her face to gage Gabriel's reaction to the question: a silent, desolate look. Balthazar hissed quietly. "Yeah. That's what I was afraid of."

"We'll just have to hope Castiel survives the conversation." Metatron uttered Castiel's name with a shadow of the derision Kate had once heard alternate-him say the word 'Asstiel.' "You think God will bring him back again, if he doesn't?"

From the tense silence in the room, the answer to that on all accounts was 'no'.

"I'll just go make sure he survives, shall I?" Gabriel was gone in a moment, leaving only Kate, Metatron, and Balthazar. Metatron began to wander the perimeter of the room, slowly erasing the warding he'd put up to keep the meeting secret, lest the owner of the warehouse or some random vagrant come across it. Kate beckoned Balthazar out of the warehouse before he could simply fly away, and he followed, seemingly reluctantly.

"Balthazar," she began when they'd left the warehouse.

"Ape," Balthazar returned unenthusiastically.

Kate resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I have a question for you, about a spell I saw you use in the future."

Balthazar looked vaguely interested at the prospect of his future and tilted his head minutely. "Go on."

"When you used it, it sent Sam and Dean Winchester into a universe similar to the one I came from…" Kate described the ingredients and showed him what the sigil he'd used looked like. He nodded throughout the explanation, so Kate assumed he was already familiar with it. "What I want to know, is if that spell can send me home. Does it just open up a random door, or can it be used to send me back where I came from?"

Balthazar frowned at her. "Of course it can send you home," he sounded annoyed to have had his time wasted. "Why didn't you ask Metatron this? He's the expert in this sort of thing."

Kate didn't answer. Her mouth wasn't working. She was completely frozen. Balthazar hissed a little at the look on her face. "Of course you asked Metatron first. Did I just say it could get you home? What I meant was—" Kate ignored his backpedaling and made for the door to the warehouse. Behind her, Balthazar cursed softly and fled.

Kate was not someone who screamed in anger. The boiling rage in her gut had thawed the initial shock, and now it was almost like sinking into a bubbling hot tub. Though her jaw clenched and her fingers twitched, her shoulders were relaxed. There was a calm, quiet serenity in her rage.

Metatron had lied.

Kate had suspected that he would, at first. Anticipated it, even. But not about this. He had all of her information, so why keep her around? Why lie and tell her there was no way for her to return home?

"There you are," Metatron stepped out of the warehouse, glancing around as if he wondered why she'd left in the first place. "Ready to go?" He extended a hand.

Kate stared at it blankly at first, long enough for Metatron to frown in confusion, before she lifted her own hand. It felt wrong, wooden, as she put her hand in his. The instant she blinked and they were among Metatron's books once more, she yanked her hand away.

"What's wrong?" Metatron looked lost. His eyes were wide, imploring her to tell him what was the matter. Kate strode to one of the windows, looking unseeingly at the mountains.

"You lied." The words felt heavy. "About the spell to send me back to my own world."

Metatron was silent. Kate turned, needing to see the look on his face. He stood frozen in the middle of the room. His eyes looked were nearly transparent today, pale and wide. There was surprise on his face, dread, even, but no denial. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came.

On any other day, Kate would have paid good money to see Metatron shocked speechless. Now, she felt almost physically sick. "You could have sent me back at any time, couldn't you?" she whispered.

The question seemed to shock him out of his paralysis. He eyed Kate warily, like she was a hungry tiger who'd somehow gotten into his rooms. She felt a distant sort of satisfaction at his unease. "Yes."

"Why?" She demanded immediately. She was no angel, but the word had weight like a clash of thunder anyway, and Metatron flinched. Then he gathered himself, turning his surprise and unease into a frantic, defensive sort of anger.

"Why would you even want to go back?" He shot back. "It's not like you had anything going for you."

Kate's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "I had a life—a job, an apartment, family—"

Metatron scoffed. "Did you? A dead-end job and a few relatives you visited out of obligation on the holidays, that's your idea of a life? Back there you were just a replaceable, forgettable cog in the system. Here, you're actually important." Metatron cast her an appealing look, as if that was a compliment. "Useful."

"Why the fuck would that matter?!"

Metatron made a frustrated sort of slashing gesture in the air. "Don't you want your life to _mean_ something?"

"Nobody's life means anything!" Kate was gesturing now, too, because if she didn't she might take her anger out on the books, or Metatron himself. "You live, you die, and if you're lucky you leave the world a little better than you came into it."

Metatron snorted. "And how were _you_ making your world a better place? Supporting local tourist traps and dive bars?"

"Fuck you!" Kate snarled. "You hypocrite. You sat around reading books for hundreds of years, doing all of nothing to help anybody but yourself, and you think you have the right to judge how I should be living? The right to _decide_ it?"

"You were the one who gave me this information! This mission!" Metatron shot back. "You didn't have to come to me."

"I thought you were my best shot at getting home!" Kate cried. "Without dying, or being tortured for information, like I worried I would be with anyone else! This world is _dangerous_!"

Metatron's frantic pacing and gesturing halted, and he was uncharacteristically still as he said, solemnly, "I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

"Oh, and I should trust you, should I?" Kate huffed a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Why even keep me here? You had all of the information to change things. You could have done all of this without me!" She gestured broadly to the wall.

"That is not true," Metatron said, enunciating every word clearly as if proper diction would make her more inclined to listen. "You have been invaluable in this process." Kate scoffed, but he pushed on, voice rising. "You know, I really can't see why you're so upset about this. Humans sit around dreaming of adventure, telling stories, writing themselves _into_ stories. You get dropped in the middle of one, you get a chance to be a hero, and you want to run away? Run back home to your boring life, ignore the call of adventure?"

"It should be _my_ choice!" Kate snarled. "My decision to make, not yours!" The anger left her then, leaving her cold, bitter. She shook her head reproachfully and said quietly, "I should have known better than to trust you."

Metatron was quiet for a moment, stunned, then seemed to shudder. From anger or something else, Kate couldn't tell. When he spoke, his words were laced with righteous indignation. "I am not some crazy tyrant—"

"Aren't you?" Kate interrupted coldly. "Or did you not lie to me for months? What else have you lied about?"

"I have never—" Kate didn't let him finish.

"And how the hell am I supposed to believe that?" Kate shook her head again, ruffling a hand in her curls in frustration. "I wanted to believe in you, believe that you could change. That you could be the good, kind person you had the potential to be. I thought you were. I thought…" She shook her head again. "How can I believe _anything_ you've said?"

Metatron said nothing. Kate started for the door.

"You can't leave!" Metatron followed Kate and raised his hand as if to reach out to her, but yanked it back to his side at her glacial stare. Still, he said, "You can't leave, not now. Not right in the middle of this, I need you—"

"I don't care about what you need."

Metatron flinched a little, then swallowed loudly. "Heaven needs you, then. The world needs you. This tentative alliance with Gabriel and Castiel and Balthazar, you're the glue holding it together, not me. You leave now and it all falls apart. Everything you tried to change is undone."

"I doubt that," Kate said flatly. Metatron's shoulders hunched. He opened his mouth to protest further, but Kate cut him off. "But you're right. I'm not willing to leave in the middle of all of this." She turned to head back to her own room, to think. To scream, probably, and maybe break something.

"Kate." She paused in the doorway at the plea, but didn't turn. He sounded sincere. But then, she'd thought that before. "Please. I never meant to hurt you." Kate glanced over her shoulder. His eyes were wide and pale and scared, and Kate couldn't see a lie in them anywhere.

That frightened her.

She turned around, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat. "You're too skilled a liar, Metatron," she said softly. "I'll see this through, and then I'm going home."


	7. Emotional Involvement

_An emotional involvement can only lead to getting involved... emotionally._

 _\- J. Pierpont Finch, How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying_

* * *

The days following were a hundred times more tense and awkward than when Kate first came to the Two Rivers Hotel. Kate visited Metatron's rooms only once a day now, to check in on angel radio and to see if he'd heard anything from Gabriel or Castiel. The first day Metatron attempted to talk to Kate, but she shut him down so thoroughly that for the next two days he merely answered her questions in short, sullen sentences.

The fourth day, he had news.

"It's happening today," he reported, even before Kate could ask, eyes distant in the way he got when he was still half-tuned to angel radio. "Raphael is calling together the angels. When they meet, he'll ask Castiel to swear his allegiance before them."

"And he won't," Kate finished. Metatron hummed in agreement. "Well, Gabriel is looking out for him. Between the two of them he should be able to get out of the conversation alive."

"Right. Gabriel will take care of everything."

Kate chose to ignore the bitter, confrontational tone. "We should get the warehouse ready. Have a warded place for them to come back to. Castiel will probably be injured."

Metatron stared for a moment, then stood, holding out a hand uncertainly. The expression, and the gesture, twisted something in Kate's gut. "I think I'll just drive."

Metatron's hand fell. He glanced away, jaw tight. "Right. I'll just… meet you there, then."

Kate took her time on the road. Before, the sight of the Colorado mountains had always given her a deep sense of peace. But not now. Now, she wondered when, precisely, she'd begun to consider this place home. And where she could call home now, caught as she was between worlds.

It was just as well, really. Even if there had been no way back to her own world, there would have been no reason to stay with Metatron after the civil war in Heaven had been resolved. But for a time, on peaceful days in the hotel, watching movies and ridiculing bad writing, she had felt like she could have stayed longer.

Kate cranked the radio up as loud as she could stand it for the rest of the drive to drown out those thoughts.

The wards were already set up when Kate arrived. Metatron had brought his chair from his rooms, and was sat curled up with a book when Kate entered the room. He'd brought Kate's chair, too, but she ignored it in favor of pacing. She didn't know how long she paced, but she had yet to fully work off the nervous energy before there was a loud flutter of wings and the stumbling of feet behind her.

Kate whipped around. Gabriel was gently lowering Castiel into her abandoned armchair. She rushed over to see the state of Castiel, and winced in sympathy at the amount of blood and bruises he'd managed to acquire. Almost absentmindedly, she sent out a prayer to Balthazar, letting him know where they were, and that Castiel was safe, but hurt.

"Castiel!" Metatron greeted cheerily, ignoring the tension in the room. He closed his book and it vanished, presumably to the top of one of the towering stacks in his rooms. "So. How'd the talk with Raphael go?"

Castiel glared at Metatron, but the effect was diminished a bit, as his left eye was nearly swollen shut. Balthazar appeared as Gabriel pressed a hand to Castiel's forehead. As his cuts began to mend and bruises began to fade, Balthazar demanded, "What happened?"

"Thank you," Castiel nodded to Gabriel, only a little grudging, then turned to answer Balthazar. "Raphael. He was… not as reasonable as I'd hoped."

Kate scoffed a little at the understatement, earning herself a sharp look from Castiel. "He really does want to restart the apocalypse, then?" Balthazar asked nervously.

"Yes, he does," Castiel said grimly. "And he intends to slaughter any angel who opposes him in that goal."

"He nearly killed Cassie," Gabriel added, frowning as he straightened, having healed Castiel's vessel completely. "Would have, if I hadn't stepped in. I was hoping not to have to reveal myself to Raphael just yet, but…" He shrugged, as if it didn't matter, but the line of his shoulders was tense.

"But now, not only does Raphael know Castiel is going to oppose him, he also knows you're involved," Kate said, grimacing. That was not good. She had ideas on how to help this rag-tag team, but she couldn't predict how Raphael might change his strategy now that he knew he'd be fighting another archangel. Would he seek out other weapons? Would he beat them to finding the weapons they needed? "That is… not ideal."

"Not ideal," Balthazar repeated, disbelieving. "Bit of an understatement, there. Castiel. How bad is this?"

Castiel shook his head. "I don't know how many of the angels are loyal to Raphael. How many will fight." Castiel stood, a little unsteadily. "I have to go back. All who oppose Raphael are in danger."

"Yeah, including you," Gabriel snorted, pushing Castiel back down. "I just pulled your ass out of the frying pan, no way am I letting you jump into the fire."

"Our brothers and sisters will die," Castiel insisted.

"If they have any sense at all, the ones who oppose Raphael will run," Balthazar placated. "They know you fought the apocalypse, and Raphael will make it clear you're public enemy number one. The ones who support us will seek you out."

Castiel looked marginally reassured by Balthazar's words, though he still looked worried. He cast a speculative glance at Kate and Metatron. "How many angels will side with Raphael? With us?"

Kate grimaced and shrugged. "I don't know."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Don't know, or won't say?"

"I don't know," Kate repeated, insistent. "Look, everything I've seen about the possible future was from the point of view of the Winchesters, and you didn't exactly spend much time dropping into their motel room to talk numbers and strategies. I only know the really big stuff."

Castiel leveled an unamused look at Kate which told her he thought the numbers in each faction's ranks was very much 'really big stuff'. "Like what?"

"Like the fact that, without Gabriel and Balthazar, you would have tried to lead the angels on your own, been hopelessly outclassed, and teamed up with Crowley to open the door to Purgatory so you could get a power-up from all the souls it contains, swallowing up more power than your vessel could handle and inadvertently unleashing Leviathans on the Earth," Kate bit back.

Castiel's eyes were wide at the end, but narrowed. "I would never work with Crowley."

Kate scoffed. "You have no idea what you're capable of if you're really pushed, Castiel. And I really hope we never have to find out precisely how far you'll go."

"And how can we trust anything you say?" Castiel growled viciously. "When you let the apocalypse happen?"

"The apocalypse didn't happen!" Kate protested.

"Yes, no thanks to you!"

The conversation descended into bickering after that. Gabriel and Metatron attempted to reason with Castiel, Castiel refused to trust a word of the so-called future according to Kate, and Balthazar looked completely unsure, his loyalty to Castiel caught between his common sense and sense of self-preservation.

Kate tuned them out, pressing a hand to her forehead and trying to think of some way to resolve this stupid fighting. They didn't have time to do trust falls and braid each other's hair. Every moment spent attacking each other was a lost moment of preparation. Raphael would be gathering his forces and amassing weapons while they bickered amongst themselves. He could have already restarted the apocalypse by the time Castiel was ready to play nice with the rest of the team.

Kate racked her brain for some solution. This wasn't like the Avengers—they didn't have an expendable side character's death to inspire all the superheroes on the team to band together against the common enemy. She needed a shortcut. Something, anything, that would make Castiel believe they were telling the truth.

Telling the truth.

Something about that thought niggled at Kate, and she repeated it under her breath, scanning her now-impeccable memory for the source of the chord she'd struck. It was familiar, it was from this universe, it was…

"The Horn of Gabriel!" Kate shouted over the din. The angels paused in their bickering at the sudden exclamation. Gabriel cocked an eyebrow.

"Excuse you?"

"The Horn of Gabriel," she repeated, heart beating quickly in excitement. "Isn't one of its uses to make people tell the truth?"

"Shouldn't you know?" Balthazar snarked.

Kate shrugged. "I've never actually seen that aspect of it in action." She turned to Gabriel hopefully. "So, does it?"

Gabriel grinned a little. "Just so we're clear, you _are_ asking me to toot my own horn."

Kate sighed, exasperated. "Why did I save you? You are the worst. Is that a yes?"

"You love me." Gabriel waggled his eyebrows at her and winked. "Anywho, yes, it does. Never took it for a spin, myself, but yes. Power it up and everyone tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but."

Kate spun to Castiel and Balthazar. "Will that satisfy you? We use the Horn of Gabriel. You can ask anything. I'll answer truthfully."

Castiel looked like he was seriously considering it. Balthazar raised any eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Anything," Kate confirmed. If they asked uncomfortable questions, they'd have to be prepared for uncomfortable answers. Not her problem.

Finally, Castiel nodded. Kate sighed in relief.

Gabriel tapped a finger against his mouth thoughtfully. "You know, come to think of it, that old thing could solve our other problem, too."

"What other problem?" asked Castiel.

"Bringing the angels together," Gabriel said, spreading his hands wide and then bringing them together, interlacing his fingers with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, the horn's a lie detector, but its primary purpose? It's a rallying cry. Get the tune just right, and we can call all our allies together. No angel radio required, no tipping off my big bro."

"Where is this horn?" Castiel suddenly looked worried. "If it's in Heaven—"

"Nope!" Gabriel tapped the side of his own forehead. "It's right here." Then, at Castiel's blank look, "In my mind? It's a spell, genius, not a physical object."

"Then we could use it now," Castiel said, eyes lighting up.

"Ah, no," Gabriel corrected. "I need a bit of time to play with it first. Like I said, I've never used it before. Don't want to accidentally call _all_ the angels down on us, do I?"

"Time is of the essence, Gabriel."

"I'm aware," Gabriel said, dryly. "Give me a day, alright? Can you give me a day?" Reluctantly, Castiel nodded. Gabriel smiled and clapped his hands. "Okay, team! Good talk! See you tomorrow!"

Metatron caught Gabriel's eye before he could fly away, and the archangel joined him in the abandoned armchairs for a conversation that seemed to involve a lot of expressive gesturing. Castiel stood awkwardly staring after them, seeming uncertain whether he should follow or leave. Kate waved him down, and he reluctantly approached her.

When he was close, she asked quietly, "You already pulled Sam out from Hell?"

Castiel's eyes widened, then narrowed. "You know about that?"

Kate ignored the question. "His soul is missing."

Castiel's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about—"

"When you pulled Sam from the pit, you left his soul behind. Sam's soul is still in the cage, and meanwhile he's running around Earth all soulless and dangerous," Kate held up a hand to stem any questions or protests from Castiel, distinctly not in the mood to deal with him or anyone else. "Death is one of the few things that has the power to pull Sam's soul out of Hell. Tell Dean to summon Death and work out a deal."

Castiel frowned. "Dean is living a normal life with a human woman and her son. Sam doesn't wish to interfere—"

"First of all," Kate interrupted, "I don't recommend you give too much credence to what Sam wants while he doesn't have a soul. Second, Dean would kill you if he had a chance to save his brother and you withheld the information so he could live some apple pie life. And third, the longer you wait, the more Lucifer and Michael torture Sam's soul, until he's broken, flayed, and insane." Kate heaved a sigh. "That's all. If you need, I can repeat this all 'under oath' once Gabriel has his horn working, but I wanted to tell you now. I know time passes differently in Hell, so every day Sam's soul is still in the cage is weeks to him…" Kate trailed off, then shook her head. "Whatever. I've told you what to do to help him. If you don't follow my advice, then Sam's torture's on you. Don't say I didn't tell you so."

Castiel looked a little thrown off the the overt hostility Kate was radiating, and Kate almost felt bad. It wasn't _really_ his fault. She was just irritated by the useless bickering and his lack of belief in her word, on top of the simmering anger and hurt resulting from Metatrons lies.

"Fucking angels," she muttered, kicking open the door to the the warehouse and storming her way to the borrowed car. She was getting take-out on the way back. And rum. And maybe a pack of cigarettes.

Why not go all out? These idiots were all going to be the death of her anyway.

* * *

Gabriel had been discussing what the angel tablet had said about the precise workings of the horn of Gabriel with Metatron when Kate finished her conversation with Castiel and stalked out in a flurry of muttered curses. He whistled at some of the vocabulary, then turned to Metatron with a raised eyebrow. "What's got her so pissed? And not just at Castiel, either." Gabriel squinted at the discomfited, vaguely guilty expression on Metatron's face. "What'd you do, walk in on her naked?"

Metatron's jaw tightened for a moment before he spoke. "I could have sent her home when she first came to me. Over a year ago, now. She just found out." He cast a dirty look in the direction Balthazar had been standing. He and Castiel had finally disappeared, it seemed.

Gabriel's brows shot up. "Oh. So you lied to her face," he summarized bluntly, then squinted at Metatron's sour look. "Can I ask why? Balthazar's right—well, almost right. She's useful to have around, but we don't _need_ her. Not if you know everything she does."

Metatron glanced away, folding his arms defensively. Gabriel just watched him, patient, until Metatron sighed with a heave of his shoulders. "At first? Because she was interesting." Metatron looked back at Gabriel and shrugged again, but his expression was almost hopeful. Like Gabriel would tell him he'd done the right thing, if he only explained himself properly. "She gave me a call to adventure, and I needed her to complete the quest. But then, even after I had all the information, when I could have sent her home... I didn't. I couldn't."

Metatron looked genuinely puzzled at the end of his little speech. Gabriel couldn't help it.

He laughed.

Metatron glared at Gabriel's mirth, and tried to shrug him off when Gabriel's laughter subsided into quiet chuckles and the archangel looped a careless arm around the scribe's shoulder. "Ha!... Oh, brother," Gabriel wiped a tear from his eyes, still grinning. "You've got it _bad_!"

Metatron gave up trying to dislodge Gabriel's arm so he could stare. " _Excuse_ me?"

"Don't be stupid," Gabriel scolded, rapping one hand gently on Metatron's skull. "You're in _love_ with her. Like, stupid in love with her. Oh, this is priceless."

"I'm not—" Metatron protested, but words wouldn't come. Gabriel's eyes sparkled, and his grin just kept getting wider. It was part joy, part schadenfreude. Okay, mostly schadenfreude.

"Oh, yeah you are. Come on, think. At least a few dozen of those books you buried yourself in had to be love stories, right?"

"No," Metatron denied immediately. "She's _human_. She's chaos. She's—"

"Your favorite person in the whole wide world?"

"I am not in love with her!" Metatron's voice rose to nearly a shout, and Gabriel backed off, raising his hands defensively.

"Okay, okay, I get it. I'll believe you…" Gabriel paused, then cocked an eyebrow. " _If_ you can come up with one good reason she's still in this universe."

Metatron's jaw worked silently, but no words came. Gabriel snorted. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

* * *

This was absurd. Really, truly absurd. Gabriel didn't know what he was talking about.

Except…

 _I'll believe you_ , he'd said, _if you can come up with one good reason she's still in this universe._

And Metatron tried. He came up with dozens of reasons, even. He was reasonably clever, and more well-read than perhaps anyone else in existence. He had no trouble fabricating reason after reason that Kate was still in this universe. Some of them even sounded convincing.

But none of them quite felt true.

When had this happened? And how hadn't Metatron noticed?

It was like his wayward affection had grown, slowly, stealthily. Like the growth of a tree, which changed so little from day to day, but whose little changes built up until one day a sapling was a towering oak. Kate's favor and still-unbelievable trust in him had planted the seed, and it had blossomed without his notice, or his permission. He hadn't noticed it as it grew, but now that Gabriel had pointed it out to him, Metatron found the feeling was rooted deep.

It wasn't a weed he could pull out. It was part of him.

And why? Because a marginally attractive woman had deigned to spend so much time with him? Because he'd spent so long among humans that their notions of romantic love and partnership had rubbed off on him?

But no. That didn't give Kate, or himself, enough credit.

It didn't matter that Kate's ruffled curls softened the hard angles of her face. It didn't matter that she got small wrinkles around her eyes and her lips quirked up only on one side when she was poking fun at Metatron, but always in good humor. It didn't matter that he admired the pale jut of her wrists, even as his eyes lingered and he wondered whether she'd forgotten to eat again.

It wasn't about her looks. It was about the way she looked at _him._

Because this woman was the only one, the _only_ one, who'd ever looked at Metatron and found something valuable. Because she appreciated what he did, and who he was, even when that person was callous and uncaring and cowardly and cruel. Because she cast him disapproving looks and rolled her eyes at him, but always with such fondness that he never felt insult. Because she tore down the mistakes he might have made, but still stubbornly believed in the person he could become, if he cared to try.

And Gabriel was right. He was in love with her. _Stupid in love with her_ , as the archangel had insensitively put it.

And suddenly Metatron knew that no matter how long it took for her to forgive him, how many times Metatron might have to apologize, he'd have to convince her to _let_ him love her. Not because he needed her—though he did, desperately—but because Kate deserved to be loved, deeply and wholly and without reserve, and no one else could ever love her as much as he did.

* * *

When Kate arrived in Metatron's rooms the next morning to ask about when they'd be meeting the other angels at the warehouse, Metatron jumped and dropped his book. Kate had stared at the fallen volume, puzzled. Metatron looked from the book, to Kate, and back, finally fixing the novel with a betrayed look.

That was… odd.

"So, same time as yesterday?" Kate asked, when it seemed Metatron had gotten lost in thought staring at his rebellious copy of _Much Ado About Nothing_.

Metatron jolted and scooped the book up, shoving it on his side table with such force that a few other books toppled off. Kate stared, but Metatron resolutely ignored the fallen volumes, not looking at Kate as he responded quickly, "Yes. Same time."

"O...kay." Kate hovered uncertainly in the doorway. "Anything else I should know?"

For the briefest second, Metatron looked panicked. Then he schooled his expression and shook his head emphatically. "No! Nothing else."

Kate frowned at him thoughtfully. She suspected that wasn't the truth, but at the same time, Metatron wasn't usually so transparently bad at lying.

But Kate wasn't interested in prying. With any luck, this whole heavenly war situation would be resolved soon, and she would go home. And that would be lucky, she told herself sternly, even if the aching pit in her gut said otherwise.

That afternoon when Kate arrived at the warehouse, the angels were already gathered, and a sigil was glowing golden on the wall.

"My lady." Gabriel gestured grandly to a waiting armchair, and Kate sat in their small circle with a roll of her eyes at his theatricality. "A few questions first, just to make sure my horn's working its magic." Gabriel paused to waggle his eyebrows, earning exasperated sighs from Metatron and Balthazar. Castiel looked vaguely confused.

"What—" Gabriel paused dramatically, "is your name?"

"Katherine Ann Fitzgerald."

"What—" Another dramatic pause. "Is your quest?"

Kate was sorely tempted to say that she sought the Holy Grail, but instead said, "To end the civil war in Heaven with minimal casualties."

"What… is your favorite color?"

"Blue," Kate said, but only because an very strong, sigil-induced urge compelled her to. "Can we save the Monty Python nods until we're not at war, please?"

A line formed between Castiel's eyebrows. "If we are truly testing the sigil, then surely we should ask her a question she would not wish to answer, or that she would be inclined to lie to."

Metatron snorted softly. "Good luck with that. I've begun to suspect she's incapable of lying. If an axe murderer came to the door asking where the children were hiding, she'd tell him, and then lecture him on his moral failings."

"I don't recall anyone asking for your input," Kate said coldly.

"How'd you lose your virginity?" Balthazar asked, sounding bored and uninterested in the answer.

Kate pondered for a moment, then decided on, "Enthusiastically."

She was pleased at the boundaries she was discovering with the sigil. She was compelled to tell the truth, yes, but that was never an issue for her anyway. How _much_ of the truth she told seemed to depend on her discretion, the phrasing of the question, and, she suspected, the genuine interest of the person asking the question. To Kate's satisfaction, her short answer seemed to surprise a small huff of laughter from the angel.

"How many men have you had sex with?" He asked then, Kate assumed in an attempt to make her uncomfortable. Unashamed, Kate held up five fingers. "Women?" She dropped three of her fingers. Balthazar sat back with a shrug. "Well, I'm out of ideas."

Castiel was not, nor was he amused by the line of questioning. He leaned forward, eyes hard. "What is the one thing you've done that are most ashamed of?"

It was not something Kate needed to think about for long. "I once broke the heart of a man who still had his own teeth lodged in his throat." Kate said it boldly, frankly, daring any of them to question her further. Metatron, of course, knew the story already, from her drunken confession on her birthday, but the others did not. An awkward silence fell.

Finally Gabriel cleared his throat. "I think that does it. Everybody's telling the truth now—" Kate cut a skeptical look at Metatron, but said nothing, "—so let's get story time over with, shall we?"

"Are you really from an alternate universe?" Castiel asked immediately.

"Yes," Kate said simply.

"Have you really seen what happens in the future of this world?"

Kate tilted her head uncertainly for a moment. She guessed Castiel considered this a yes or no question, but it was a touch more complicated than that. "I have seen one version of possible events for this universe that I strongly believe would play out as I have seen them without my interference," she said finally.

"How did you see these events?"

"This is a television show where I come from." Balthazar's eyebrows quirked up at that. To Metatron and Gabriel this information was not news.

"How did you come to be here?"

Kate pursed her lips. "I fell through what was advertised as a perfectly normal mirror."

"Why did you call out to Metatron when you arrived here?"

Kate rolled her shoulders, frowning. "He seemed the most trustworthy at the time I arrived." Something, probably the sigil, pushed her to say, "You and Balthazar were both still in the garrison, following orders essentially without question, and for a while Gabriel was pretty pro-apocalypse. I figured it was too dangerous to just hand the information to an archangel and hope he did the right thing. Metatron was comparatively less dangerous. Hanging around the Winchesters would have been too risky. I could have altered the timeline, or gotten killed, or both."

"Why didn't you try to stop the apocalypse?" This was clearly the question Castiel most wanted to ask, his eyes still burning with barely-leashed anger at her inaction.

"I honestly believe that the Winchesters are the only ones who could have," Kate said, though she hadn't quite known she believed that until it was out of her mouth. "I was also too afraid that my interfering in any way could have changed the outcome of events in a negative way."

Castiel sat back a little, anger slightly cooled at the response. "What _have_ you changed?"

Kate felt a little nauseous at the question and had to cradle her head for a moment. Castiel shot an uncertain glance at Gabriel and Metatron. "She's not trying to lie," Gabriel said, reading the question on Castiel's face. "Broad questions like that can be a little overwhelming under the influence of the Horn."

Kate nodded, breathing in through her nose slowly. "What I've changed, in total, is probably unknowable. What I have changed _on purpose_ , from what I know of how events were going to play out: Gabriel was supposed to be killed by Lucifer, as were a bunch of pagan gods. I assume those gods are still alive?" Kate glanced at Gabriel, who nodded, looking a little smug.

"I also requested that he save Ellen and Jo Harvelle in that mad bid to shoot Lucifer with the colt." Castiel looked ready to interrupt, but Gabriel laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head, for which Kate was grateful. She wasn't finished, and she thought she might throw up if Castiel asked another question before she finished answering this one.

"They were going to die, as well. After that, I changed nothing until calling this meeting with you. From here on I intend to change countless more things, because the original chain of events tied to the civil war in heaven caused a sort of domino effect of other awful things. And I told you about Sam's soul, so I assume he should be getting it back much sooner and in much better condition than he otherwise would have."

That level of detail seemed to satisfy the sigil, and Kate sighed in relief.

"Why didn't you tell us the colt wouldn't work to kill the devil?" Castiel demanded when she finished.

"I didn't think you'd believe me." Castiel sat back in his chair, looking tired. "Are we done? Have I sufficiently proven myself?" Castiel nodded.

"Excellent," Kate brought her feet up into the armchair to curl up in her preferred position. Metatron stared at her openly for a moment, as if he'd seen a ghost. Kate chose to ignore the expression, and when she started speaking again he shook his head, looking distinctly off-balance. "Now, I'm of basically no use when it comes to angel warfare or strategy, but there are weapons and tools I know of that you can use.

"The first and most obvious are the weapons Balthazar stole when he faked his death." Kate paused as Castiel and Gabriel both turned to Balthazar with raised eyebrows, looking disbelieving and impressed in turn. "Seriously? How has that not come up?"

Gabriel shrugged. "He was more interested in bragging about his menage-a-douze."

"Charming," Kate said dryly, glad the Horn of Gabriel didn't impede sarcasm. "I know about the Staff of Moses, Lot's Salt, and a blade that's capable of killing a Fate, but I assume that's not all. None of those are particularly useful against angels, especially when they're not inhabiting vessels, so I'm _hoping_ that's not all."

"There are others," Balthazar confirmed. "I'll have to rummage through them and see what could be useful. Solomon's ring comes to mind… Maybe something from the Tower of Babel."

God, it was weird that this was all real. Kate had been staunchly atheist in her own world, and while she could handle dealing with angels—who were not unlike bizarre, superpowered aliens—it was still odd to think of stories from the Bible, especially things like the Tower of Babel, as having any real, literal historical merit.

"Please do," she said, setting aside her unease. "The demon Crowley currently has the Lance of Michael, but unless one of you knows more about it, I don't think it's worth going after. For most angels it would just be a slow, agonizing death." Gabriel shook his head, agreeing that the lance wasn't valuable, and she nodded.

"There's the pagan gods, but I assume they won't help unless the fighting comes to Earth?"

"They couldn't get into Heaven anyway, even if they wanted to," Gabriel said.

"Right. Best for last, then. The angel tablet. It's in one of Lucifer's crypts, somewhere in what is now Lincoln Springs, Missouri." Kate closed her eyes, racking her memory for the very specific location details. "Where Downey meets Bond Street. Basement of an abandoned warehouse. That's convenient."

She opened her eyes to three puzzled looks. "How on Earth does your puny little human brain remember all that?" Balthazar asked skeptically.

"How many times did you _watch_ this show?" Gabriel asked, looking almost worried for her.

"Metatron cast a mind-sharpening spell on me, and two-ish," Kate said. "I watched some of my favorite episodes more than others." Gabriel looked intrigued by that, and Kate spoke before he could ask another question. "Anyway, angel tablet. We should get it. I don't _think_ Raphael or Naomi will be looking for it yet, but I don't know for sure that they won't either."

"Naomi?" Castiel frowned, furrowing his brow. "That name…"

Kate winced. "Uh, yeah. I don't know how widespread this is, but when an angel disobeys or questions orders, it's Naomi they're sent to—to have their memories wiped and to have their orders drilled into their skull. In some cases, I suspect literally."

All the angels but Metatron looked vaguely sick. Metatron simply looked angry at the reminder, probably because angels like her were the precise reason he had been driven from Heaven in the first place.

Castiel looked uncertain. "Has she—?"

The Horn didn't seem to care about unvoiced, implied questions, but Kate answered anyway. "On you? Yes. Though I don't know how many times, or for what. I don't know about Balthazar of anyone else. Metatron and Gabriel are fine, because they skipped out ages ago."

Castiel's eyes were dark and full of doubt, clearly searching through his memories and wondering if they were real. Kate cleared her throat. "The angel tablet, in addition to being a huge power boost to whoever holds it, has the added bonus of being able to disrupt Naomi's mind control. I don't know if there's a way to boost that signal, but if there was, I'm guessing Raphael's support and numbers would be a lot weaker than they look right now."

Metatron folded his hands and put them to his lips, looking thoughtful. Kate guessed he was going over the tablet in his mind, thinking on whether such a 'signal boost' was possible.

Castiel stood suddenly. "I will retrieve it immediately."

"Woah, hang on!" Kate caught the edge of his coat sleeve in her fingers before he could fly away. The look he gave her was, she thought, meant to be intimidating. In reality, he looked simply fragile. "I've got to come with you. It's in a box that's warded against angels." Kate then looked skeptically at her own hand, thin and frail and with a very low success rate at opening jars, let alone ancient, warded stone boxes with the word of God inside. "And I'll probably need a crowbar."

Castiel nodded and tugged his coat sleeve out of her grip. "I will return with a crowbar, and we will retrieve it." He vanished with a flutter of wings, and Kate returned her hand to her lap.

"Is that safe?" Metatron asked. "Going into the crypt?"

Kate considered it. "I don't think it's particularly _unsafe_ ," she hedged. "I didn't see any guards or traps or anything, at least."

Metatron didn't look entirely reassured. A week ago, Kate would have found the concern heart-warming, but now it grated on her nerves. Partly because it was true, and partly because the mention of 'God's favorite angel' would irk Metatron, Kate added, "Besides, I'm confident that Castiel will protect me from coming to any harm."

Kate was pleased to see Metatron's jaw tighten in irritation. Balthazar, however, frowned. "How long does it take to fetch a crowbar, anyway?"

They all glanced around. That was a good point. Surely it shouldn't take Castiel more than a few seconds to locate a crowbar and return with it? Kate wondered, with a jolt of panic, if he'd been found and intercepted in the short time he'd been outside the warded warehouse—

But she needn't have worried. Castiel reappeared, crowbar in hand, and cast a look at Kate. "Are you ready?" Kate nodded and stood. Castiel reached out and lightly took hold of her shirtsleeve. In the next moment, they were gone from the warded warehouse and in front of another abandoned one.

"This is it, correct?"

Kate glanced around and nodded. "This is it. Should be in the basement." Castiel nodded gravely and led the way into the warehouse. His posture was tense, his steps efficient. Kate watched him move, suddenly keenly aware that this being was a soldier. She wondered briefly how many angels Castiel had killed. How many humans, for that matter.

Castiel forced open the door to the basement and strode fearlessly down the stairs, into the darkness. Kate followed much more slowly, taking her time on the stairs as her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light.

"Where is the crypt?" Castiel's voice sounded from the darkness when Kate stepped off the last step and onto the basement floor. Kate swiped her hand cautiously along the wall, hoping to find a light switch.

"It's behind a wall," Kate said, grimacing as dust coated her fingers. "You'll be able to feel a draft when you get close."

Quick, efficient footsteps crossed the room. There was a loud 'snick' and a few older lamps flickered half-heartedly to life. The basement was still dim, but Kate could at least see. Castiel nodded at her and began to walk the perimeter of the wall. He was working his way from the right, counterclockwise, so Kate followed the wall to the left, trailing her hand along the wall and walking slowly so she wouldn't miss the slight draft if she passed it.

Castiel found the right wall in short order and forced his way through. Katel coughed as she followed him through the hole, waving a hand to try to dispel the dust. When Castiel halted, Kate nearly ran into him. He pointed.

"There. It's the only thing in here warded against angels."

The box was heavy stone, sitting on a small altar. Kate accepted the crowbar and got to work levering the heavy stone lid off the thing.

"I owe you my thanks," Castiel said abruptly. Kate swallowed a curse as her concentration slipped and the crowbar skidded down the side of the stone box. She shot the angel a curious look as she wedged the thing back under the box's lid. "You were right. About Sam. He owes you his sanity." Looking pained, he added, "And it seems that I owe you my life."

"No, you don't," Kate breathed, levering the crowbar and sighing with relief as the stone lid slid away from the box.

Castiel furrowed his brows at her. "But I do. If what you say is true—"

Kate shook her head and scooped the angel tablet out of the box. "Look, Cas, we're on the same team. Teammates don't keep score. They just have each other's backs."

Kate extended the angel tablet to Castiel. He reached out to take it, hesitantly, reverently. His eyes went a little misty as his fingers brushed it, and then hardened when he took it fully from Kate's hands.

"Thank you, Kate."

* * *

 **Outtake: How long does it take to fetch a crowbar?**

"—Is that Cas?" Dean hastily left the hotel room, furrowing his brow at the angel, who was staring, dismayed, at the Impala.

"Your trunk is warded," Castiel said, looking put out.

"Of course it's warded—hang on, why the hell are you trying to get into my baby's trunk?"

Castiel blinked. "I need to borrow a crowbar. I didn't think you would mind."

"What does an angel need a crowbar for?" Dean asked, growing more and more confused.

"It's not for me," Castiel said patiently. "It is for an ally of mine."

"A non-angel ally?" Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, a human," Castiel confirmed. "She needs to open a box which is warded against angels. She looks quite weak, and I assume the warded box will be quite heavy. Thus, the crowbar."

"Box, what box?" Dean waved a hand, wondering why every answer Cas gave was only giving him more questions. "And who's this chick you're working with? Why didn't you come to us?"

Castiel tilted his head. "I don't have time to answer all of your questions," Castiel said calmly. "This is angel business. I don't want to trouble you with it, considering your brother currently has no soul." Castiel paused, then shifted a little on his feet. "May I borrow the crowbar?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure, I guess." Dean fumbled in his pockets for his keys. "But Cas, you know if you ever need help, you can come to us, right? No matter what's going on." Dean popped open the trunk and sorted through his tools efficiently, withdrawing a crowbar and holding it out.

Castiel offered him a small smile. "I know, Dean." He took the crowbar. "Thank you for the crowbar. I will return it shortly." And then he was gone.

Dean stared at the spot the angel had just been and closed the trunk with a shake of his head. "What the hell just happened?"


	8. Heroes

_Go, ye heroes, go to glory,_  
 _Though you die in combat gory,_  
 _Ye shall live in song and story._  
 _Go to immortality!_  
 _Go to death, and go to slaughter;_  
 _Die, and every Cornish daughter_  
 _With her tears your grave shall water._  
 _Go, ye heroes, go and die! Go, ye heroes, go and die!  
_ _-Pirates of Penzance_

* * *

It took two weeks before they were ready. Balthazar took the time to retrieve Heaven's weapons from wherever he'd stashed them, cataloguing what would and would not be useful. The artifact with the most potential was the ring Balthazar had mentioned, the Ring of Solomon. In myth, Solomon was able to use the ring to command demons. In reality, the ring could command and harness the power of all souls—demons, yes, but also the souls in Heaven, and in the veil.

It would be quite the warhead in any angel's hands. Kate wondered why it hadn't been used in what she knew as 'canon', and could only assume that Balthazar had been wise enough to see its destructive potential and bury it where it could never be found.

Castiel, meanwhile, skulked about the back alleys of Heaven, meeting with angels he thought he could trust and spreading the world that they would oppose Raphael, and that they were looking for other angels to stand with them. He also began spreading rumors about Naomi, and what happened to the angels who were sent to her for 'debriefing'.

Gabriel disappeared to track down Kali and talk to her about resisting Raphael's forces, should their major push fail and the fighting come to Earth.

Metatron spent days at a time poring over the angel tablet, scribbling on papers, and muttering under his breath, trying to come up with some sort of jerry-rigged spell to boost the mind-control disrupting effects of the tablet.

Every three days at noon they would all return to the warehouse. The warding of the Twin Rivers Hotel prevented long-distance angelic communication, and in general it was safer for all the angelic conspirators to keep to radio silence anyway. They only appeared to check in at the warehouse at predetermined times to reassure the others that things were still going according to plan, and that they weren't dead.

The plan was to try to end the conflict in one large, decisive strike. Call together the entire heavenly host, and before Raphael's forces can begin to attack, hit them with the anti-brainwashing wave, which should disorient and split the ranks. Then use the horn of Gabriel to call together and strengthen the anti-Raphael angels while Gabriel uses the power of the ring of Solomon to take Raphael on directly.

It was a risk, putting all their hopes on one big push. If they failed, Raphael would not only kill them, but also take possession of the Ring of Solomon and the angel tablet.

"Question." Balthazar broke the weighty, tense silence that had fallen once the strategy discussions had waned the day before the fight was to take place. "What happens after we defeat Raphael?"

The angels present exchanged puzzled looks, and then, one by one, they all looked at Kate. She shrugged uncomfortably.

"I really don't know. As the remaining archangel Gabriel has seniority, but most angels probably won't want to follow him after the way he skipped out on heaven," Kate shot an apologetic look in Gabriel's direction at the insensitive phrasing, but he looked more relieved than bothered.

"Castiel is the more natural figurehead, as the symbol of angels rebelling, but no offense, I've seen what you look like with a god complex and it's not a flattering look." Castiel looked less pleased with Kate's assessment, but didn't argue it. "In the events I've seen, a sort of democracy-esque system was put into place after a lengthy civil war, but I don't know how successful that would be. There were significantly fewer angels by that time."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Gabriel resolved.

* * *

Kate stood with the four angels in the warehouse, feeling useless.

All four of them were about to go to Heaven, to _battle_ , while she waited here and hoped they came back. Not that she thought she would be of any use in battle. While basic self defense and quick sprinting could help her defend herself against average humans, those skills were nothing compared to even the least angel.

Even Metatron could hold his own to some extent. He was only going for the very start of battle, to blast the mind-clearing power of the tablet at all the gathered angels and then get the the angel tablet hell out of Heaven once the effects took and the swords started swinging. But he would at least be there, doing something.

Kate had nothing. She'd be nothing but a distraction, a liability, if she went with them.

But knowing all of that didn't make her feel better. She was used to doing everything herself, to being in control. To have to sit and wait, powerless, while others she cared about risked their lives rubbed her the wrong way. It was even worse because she had set them on this path. She was the one who had set these events in motion, why they were all gathered here today.

She was responsible for all of it. And if it went wrong, if these angels died today, it would be all her fault.

And she could do nothing.

The angels were somber. They were optimistic about their chances of success, but that didn't change the fact that they were marching to war against their brothers. The fight wouldn't end before some angels died at their hands. Castiel and Balthazar, the most experienced soldiers, already looked distant. They stood straight. Balthazar, whose eyes usually sparkled with a bit of wry wit and good humor, was solemn. Gabriel, who'd run away from conflict like this, looked pale, and like he'd very much like to be anywhere else.

And Metatron, who Kate had grown to know quite well over the last few months, and could read easily, was scared. More scared than Kate had ever seen him. His grip on the angel tablet was white-knuckled, his face pale, and he lacked the bravado he liked to project to make others think he was more confident than he was. Kate wondered what it was that scared him most. The battle itself? Death? The uncertainty that followed? Or something else entirely?

For her part, Kate couldn't tell where one fear ended and another began. They all tangled together, a horrible mass of clumped emotion that sat heavy in her chest and made her breathing tight.

Kate glanced at her watch. Five minutes to go.

Gabriel saw the motion and rummaged in his pocket, removing a piece of paper. He extended it out to Kate, who took it with a curious frown. "It's a spell to summon Kali. If this all goes south—like, _way_ south—she'll bring together every monster and beastie you can think of to fight for Earth." It hung unspoken in the air just what would happen to them if this should go 'way south.'

Kate tucked the spell in her pocket and attempted a smile. Gabriel's attempt was even more pitiful than hers. "Let's hope I don't have to use it."

Castiel pulled an angel blade from his coat and held it out to her, handle-first. Kate stared at it, and then at Castiel's deadly serious face. "Just in case," he said. Very reluctantly, Kate took it.

Four minutes, now.

Kate felt like she should say something, but no words came. She wasn't a commander readying troops for battle. She felt more like a girl standing on a dock, watching her beloved brothers and friends sail off to war.

So instead she did the human thing, and pulled each of them in for an awkward hug in turn. Castiel and Balthazar endured theirs stiffly, not really understanding or appreciating the action. Still, they nodded when Kate drew away, patting their shoulders and telling them to be safe. Gabriel accepted the embrace more easily, and returned it, and nodded when she told him it would be alright, even though she didn't know that it would be and she could see in his eyes that he didn't believe her. It seemed to be something he'd needed to hear, though, so she said it again before she moved on.

The closest Kate had ever held Metatron before was when she helped him to the spare bed when he was laid out by the reverberations of Gabriel's power, and she had scarcely touched him at all since she'd found out about his lie. But if this went wrong, like it very well could, it might be the last time she ever saw him. It might be her last chance to part with him on good terms, and in the face of what was about to happen, her anger at his lie seemed small and insignificant.

Metatron's eyes looked pale green today, and wary, not just of what was about to happen, but of Kate. And she didn't want that to be how things ended, so she pulled him close, too. The hug was awkward, with Metatron still clutching the stone tablet, but he sighed in relief as Kate wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and she spoke to him in a whisper uncaring that the other three angels could doubtless hear, because she was running out of time.

"I never really wanted to leave," Kate confessed. Metatron twitched, but she couldn't see his face from this position. "I wasn't angry because there was a way home and I'd missed it. I was angry because you lied to me, and if you lied about that, then what else? I…" Kate sighed. None of her words were coming out right. They didn't feel like enough. "You've become a good friend. I didn't want to think that was a lie."

"It wasn't." Metatron's voice was a little choked. The Horn of Gabriel still shone golden on the wall behind him, proving that his words were the truth, and that soothed the raw hurt that had been festering in disappointed looks and tense silences. Kate held him tighter, and after only a moment's hesitation, pressed a kiss to his hair.

"Please don't die." Kate pulled away. Metatron nodded, and opened his mouth.

"It's time," Castiel said. Metatron shut his mouth, shot Kate one last glance, and disappeared with the others.

Kate let out a shuddering breath and began to pace.

Her stomach was tight, her heart beating rapidly, like she was right at the top of a roller coaster, waiting for the drop. She wasn't sure how long it took before she heard the flap of wings, but it was much sooner than she'd expected. She turned from her pacing, expecting Metatron and opening her mouth to ask for an update—

But it wasn't Metatron.

In the center of the room, looking around distastefully, was the angel Kate recognized as Naomi, with two other angels Kate didn't recognize. Flunkies, probably.

"This is what they've been hiding?" Naomi asked, disbelieving. "A _human_ is their secret weapon?"

Kate didn't know how Naomi had found this place, and she sincerely hoped she lived long enough to find out. Kate brought the angel blade Castiel had given her up defensively, discreetly making a small slice on her palm to draw blood.

"Who are you?" Kate asked, stalling for time. It she could just back up to the wall, she thought she could probably draw the angel-banishing sigil behind her back.

"I think you know," Naomi said, eyes cold. "The real question is, who are _you_? I was expecting a Winchester," Naomi admitted, looking Kate up and down with a frown. "You're a puzzle. One I can't solve with all that graffiti on your bones." Naomi shrugged once, a practiced and not-at-all casual motion. "I suppose I'll just have to erase it."

Somehow Kate doubted that would be a pleasant experience. Her back hit the wall, and she held the angel blade in front of her with her left hand while she tried to inconspicuously paint with her own blood behind her back. It required immense concentration, and she deeply hoped she'd get it right, because if she failed, she doubted she'd get a second chance.

"I'm not a secret weapon," Kate said. "More of a mascot, really."

There was only so far she could stretch the truth with the Horn of Gabriel sigil was still glowing golden on the wall, compelling all present to tell the truth. Which could actually work to her advantage, now that she thought about it.

"Are these two more of your brainwashed experiments?" Kate asked casually.

Naomi's eyebrows raised, and she opened her mouth to lie. Nothing came out. Her mouth worked for a moment before she said, almost robotically, "I debriefed them and reminded them of their orders."

"With torture and mind control?" Kate pushed. She was almost done with the sigil. _Almost…_

Naomi's jaw clenched, and she caught sight of the glowing sigil of the Horn of Gabriel. "Yes," Naomi ground out against her will, then turned to the two other angels and brandished a hand at it. "Destroy that sigil!"

The angels exchanged an uncertain glance and didn't move. Kate took advantage of the distraction to turn and place her hand against the blood sigil she'd created, keeping a wary eye on the angels.

Nothing happened.

Kate looked at her sloppy sigil and cursed. Why hadn't she practiced this?

"Destroy it!" Naomi ordered again. The other angels jumped into action. Naomi strode toward Kate. Kate cursed and switched the angel blade into her dominant hand, holding it up defensively. But Naomi was an angel. Even if she was no soldier, her millennia of experience would beat Kate's inexperienced flailing any day of the week.

Kate wondered suddenly if it might be better to die, than to let Naomi take her. Then she cursed, again, because this was exactly the sort of life-threatening situation she'd been hoping to avoid when she went to Metatron instead of the Winchesters.

"You know far too much." Naomi sounded more intrigued than angry, which Kate thought was probably worse, considering what she could do. "I look forward to finding out just how much, and how you know it."

Kate lunged forward, swiping at Naomi desperately with the blade. But she wasn't accustomed to wielding it, and Naomi was faster. She was disarmed immediately, and then, before she could blink, impaled through her shoulder with her own blade. Kate's scream echoed loudly in the warehouse as Naomi drove the blade straight through, pinning her to the wall next to her failed sigil with ruthless efficiency.

"Pathetic." Naomi sounded more surprised than judging. "What are you even good for?"

The question seemed to be rhetorical, which was fortunate, because Kate couldn't answer. She could only sob. This pain was the worst she'd ever felt. Worse than broken bones, she didn't even know pain could _feel_ like this. Her stomach heaved, as if the agony were some poison and she would find relief if only she emptied her stomach. Her blood, hot in the chilled air, was slowly soaked the right side of her shirt.

Naomi gripped the blade's handle and twisted it. Kate screeched again. It was her eyes that were the worst, Kate thought. She'd expected anger, or even vindictive satisfaction, but there was only cold, detached curiosity. Like Kate was nothing but a little butterfly that Naomi had pinned to her collection.

There was another flutter of wings. Kate wondered if Naomi had called in reinforcements. Maybe the battle had failed. Maybe all her friends were dead, and Raphael himself was coming to find out what she knew.

But instead it was Metatron, who looked very alarmed to find two angels scratching futilely at the Horn of Gabriel and Naomi pinning Kate to the wall with an angel blade.

The shock didn't last long, luckily, and gave way immediately to what looked, to Kate, like murderous rage. She wasn't sure. She'd never seen such a fierce expression on his face before.

"The Scribe?" Naomi asked, either not noticing the tablet clutched in Metatron's hand or not understanding the danger. "I must say, I'm surprised you crawled out of whatever hole you've been hiding in. And working with a human, no less."

"Naomi," Metatron greeted darkly. He waved a hand towards the angels near the sigil, and they vanished. Naomi backpedaled at the sight, eyes locked on the tablet. "How did you find this place?"

Naomi's eyes glittered. "Not everyone your Castiel colluded with is so loyal to _humanity_. One of our agents managed to slip a tracking coin into his coat."

Metatron's jaw tightened, eyes burning as they found Kate and the failed sigil next to her. With another wave of his hand, the sigil righted itself and glowed. Naomi's scream echoed in the warehouse as she was banished.

When she was gone, Metatron dropped the tablet and rushed to Kate, who was still a little impressed with him despite the pain and blood loss. "You're still here?..." She slurred at him uncertainly.

Metatron gave her a distracted, pained smile as he took in the state of her shoulder. "Scribe of God," he reminded her. "I know all the tricks." Then, reluctantly, "This is going to hurt."

Kate nodded, encouraging, and Metatron yanked the blade out of her shoulder. Kate cried out and crumpled. Metatron followed her down, muttering apologies and reassurances as he pressed his hands to her forehead. Kate leaned into the touch, warm and comforting as his grace healed her. She sighed in relief as the pain receded and her head cleared.

"Thank you," Kate said sincerely, then glanced around at the warehouse. "We should probably get out of here before they come back."

Metatron remained kneeling over her, brow furrowed thoughtfully. After a moment's consideration he said, determinedly, "We have a few minutes. I need to tell you something."

Kate stared at him, eyes wide. "Can't it wait?"

" _No_." Metatron gripped her shoulders tightly, face earnest, eyes searching and serious. "Because when I say this, I need you to know I'm telling you the truth. I want you to look at the light in that sigil and know that I'm not lying to you." Kate continued staring, lost, and he shook her a little. " _Please._ "

At the desperation in his voice, and because she figured the sooner he spat it out the sooner they'd be out of danger, she looked at the still-glowing Horn of Gabriel on the wall. "Okay! Okay. The sigil is working, and I'm listening."

Metatron's hands tightened on her shoulders, and Kate looked back at him, She was a bit startled at how close he was, and how wide and almost fearful his eyes were.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied about returning you to your universe. But I need you to know that I don't regret it. Not even for a second." Metatron's eyes were damp, and his voice broke a bit on those words. Kate stared as he pushed on. "You coming here, interrupting my exile among my books, is the closest thing I've ever had to being the hero of a story. To being _special_."

"Metatron…"

"Let me finish!" He sounded almost panicked at the interruption, so Kate shut her mouth. "I haven't felt anything like this since God picked me to take down his word. And now I now that I wasn't special, not to him, and that _hurts_." Metaron's voice was so raw that Kate rested her hand that wasn't covered in blood on his right arm where it gripped her shoulder, hoping to offer some silent comfort. "But even if God didn't choose me, _you_ did. You _chose_ me, and _believed_ in me, and you have no _idea_ what you've done."

Metatron stared at her, frustrated. Kate stared back, baffled. " _I love you,_ " he said, impatient, like she should've figured it out already. She hadn't, and she stared some more, and Metatron made an irritated noise in the back of his throat.

"I love you," he repeated, "and that _terrifies_ me. But the only thing that terrifies me more is the thought that I might _lose you_. So I'm sorry that I hurt you, but I don't regret it. I can't."

Metatron fell silent. Kate cleared her throat awkwardly, trying to come up with some response, and getting nothing. She was too surprised, and still a little scared, and covered in her own slowly drying blood. Finally she said, apologetically, "...I don't know what to say."

Metatron shuddered a breath and seemed to shrink a little, but still he held her gaze. "Then don't say anything. Just… please, don't leave."

Kate glanced between Metatron's exhausted face and the still-glowing sigil on the wall. She swallowed and said finally, "I won't."

Metatron's fingers unwound from Kate's bloodstained shirt. He pulled her to her feet with one hand and held out the other. The abandoned angel tablet flew into it, and then they were both gone.

* * *

The next hours were tense. The plan had been for Metatron and Kate to wait at the warehouse to hear from Castiel, Gabriel, and Balthazar when the battle was over, but now that the location was compromised they couldn't risk going back. Instead Kate paced and tried to distract herself while Metatron alternated between listening intently to angel radio and glancing at her over the back of his book.

Kate wasn't sure what to do with the unhidden admiration in his gaze, or with Metatron in general. She alternated between worrying about the battle in heaven and worrying about what to do with Metatron's confession.

She did care for Metatron. She even loved him, the way one loves a best friend or a work partner or a comrade in arms. And it wasn't that she considered him unattractive—it was just that she'd never considered him in such a way at all, because he was an _angel_. Because he was older than birthdays, older than the entire human race. He was easily the most intelligent and well-read being she'd ever met.

So what interest would he have in her? Kate was a clever human, and she related to Metatron more than many others could, certainly, but she was still just a human. She was a candle, and he was a star. That the two of them had managed to cultivate some sort of bizarre friendship was odd enough. It had have never occurred to her that Metatron could ever want anything more. How could a relationship like that even work? Ever be equal?

And so Kate had never read anything but platonic companionship from the lingering press of Metatron's fingers to her temple to share a book, their close brushes in the hallways, or the long, intimate, honest confessions over wine. Until now.

Now, she was hyper-aware of Metatron's presence, and his gaze. She found herself glancing at his hands, reliving the warmth of their touch in her mind, wondering.

Almost a full day passed like that. Their tense vigil lasted all through the night and into the next morning. Just before noon, Metatron stood, eyes sharp, and held very still. Then, he turned to Kate with a triumphant grin and repeated what had just been broadcast over angel radio: "Raphael is defeated."

Kate, who had been staring unseeing out the window at the mountains, slumped onto the windowsill in sheer relief. "Is everyone okay?" By everyone, Kate meant Gabriel, Castiel, and Balthazar. Metatron, understanding this, nodded. "Thank God," she sighed.

"Wrong again," Metatron said, without missing a beat. "Thank _you_."

Kate scoffed, shaking her head. Metatron crossed the room, leaning on the windowsill next to her. They didn't touch, but Kate could feel the heat of him, he was so close.

"Thank you," Metatron repeated, more sincerely. Kate looked at him, mouth going a little dry at the sincerity in his gaze. "None of this could have happened without you."

Kate folded her arms, glancing away from him. "I barely did anything. Nothing would have changed if I hadn't come to you. You and Gabriel and Castiel and Balthazar—"

"No," Metatron interrupted, soft but stern. "You did this." And that was a weighty sentence. Kate suspected Metatron was talking about more than just the civil war in heaven now, a feeling that only grew when he said, again, " _Thank you_."

Kate cleared her throat, uncomfortable. What was she supposed to say to that, 'you're welcome'? It didn't seem right. Nothing seemed like a good response to that, really, so Kate settled for clumsily changing the subject.

"Will you go back?" Metatron tilted his head minutely in question. "To Heaven," Kate clarified. "Nothing's stopping you now, right? No one's after you."

Metatron considered it. He looked around his hoard of books, at Kate, at the mountain range out the window. "I don't think so."

Kate was a little surprised at the answer, though she supposed she shouldn't be. In the back of her mind, a part of her still compared this Metatron to the fictional one from a timeline that would never come to be—an angel bearing a grudge so strong about his exile from heaven that he cast all the angels down to Earth.

Metatron saw the puzzlement on her face and smiled a self-deprecating smile that didn't quite fully reach his eyes. "Other angels never liked me much anyway. Going back, after spending so long here?..." Metatron shrugged and shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

Metatron let Kate chew on that for a moment. "Besides," he added, "in the end, Castiel wasn't the only angel who fell in love with humanity."

Metatron's eyes were very light, and very soft. Kate dearly hoped he wouldn't try to kiss her, because at the moment she wasn't at all sure whether she would kiss him back or punch him in the mouth. Thankfully, he kept his distance, seemingly content to look at her. After some time, though, lines of tension formed around his eyes and he opened his mouth, seemingly reluctant.

"What do you want to do," Metatron asked hesitantly, "now that you've seen it through?"

The question was bigger than it seemed, and Kate didn't have an answer to it. She'd said she would go, and then said that she wouldn't. What was the wise thing to do? What did she _want_ to do? She had a lurking suspicion that the two weren't the same thing anymore.

But she couldn't think, much less form a response, with Metatron's pale gaze following her, analyzing her, distracting her. She was just tired. This conversation, on top of the battle in heaven, a day-long vigil, and being stabbed by Naomi, was too much.

Kate turned away from Metatron's look of trepidation to cover a yawn, sagging against the windowsill. "Right now, all I want to do is sleep for a full 24 hours." Metatron's shoulders sagged, though from disappointment at her evasion or relief that she didn't want to go home, Kate wasn't sure. She pushed off the windowsill and dragged herself to the door on heavy feet. "Wake me if anything else happens."


	9. Ohana

_This is my family. I found it, all on my own. Is little, and broken, but still good. Ya. Still good. - Stitch, Lilo and Stitch_

* * *

At some point while Kate slept Metatron must have finally told Castiel where he'd been hiding all this time, because when she woke and wandered her way to Metatron's rooms, he was there, giving a short update to Metatron on the state of Heaven. When she appeared, Castiel gave her a summary, too. Things were still chaotic, and while Raphael had been defeated, there was still a lot of confusion and dissent among the angels. Castiel encouraged Metatron to stay hidden—the only angels who knew he'd come out of hiding were Naomi and her two followers, who Castiel said only had been 'dealt with'—with the angel tablet.

"Thank you for the update, Castiel," Kate said when it seemed Castiel had said all he intended to. "Do you happen to know where the Winchesters are right now, by chance?"

Castiel blinked once, before his eyes went distant. Kate wondered if he was seeking them out, or simply checking his memory. "In southern Wyoming, tracking what they believe is a werewolf," he said after a moment, then tilted his head. "Why?"

"I'd like to pay them a visit."

Castiel raised one hand and took a step forward. "I can take you—" He frowned, but stopped as Kate dodged his hand and backpedaled.

"No, thank you. I'll drive." Castiel looked confused at the rejection, but accepted it with a small shrug. "You know the name of the town?" Castiel repeated it, and Kate thanked him again.

"I thought you were avoiding the Winchesters," Metatron said when Castiel had left. He seemed to be attempting to sound neutral, but his voice was a little higher than usual. "Didn't you say they'd get you killed?"

"During the apocalypse, yes," Kate agreed. "I think I'll be okay for one day. I want to tie up some loose ends, meet them properly, and warn them about Abaddon."

Metatron frowned deeply. "Castiel can do all that. They're _his_ pet humans." Kate shot Metatron an unimpressed look at the epithet. He winced, but didn't apologize.

"Castiel is understandably busy right now," Kate said patiently. "Besides, I'd like to go."

It was an idea that had come to her when she woke, and it killed two birds with one stone. It was a trip that would let her get away from Metatron, to think in peace and solitude about what to do now that she was done meddling in the affairs of heaven, but it would also give her a chance to put the breaks on the other future event which had potentially world-ending consequences: Abaddon's arrival, and with it the Mark of Cain, the release of the Darkness, and everything that followed.

Metatron scowled at her, and then at the angel tablet sitting on the table. He had to stay here with the angel tablet, as they both knew, so he didn't bother suggesting that he go with her. "Promise me you'll pray to me if either of those meatheads tries anything," he said at last, resigned and sullen.

Kate smiled in amusement at the sulking tone. "I promise I will pray to you if either of the meatheads tries anything." Metatron's lips quirked up at her echo of his insult, and he nodded, satisfied at the promise.

* * *

It wasn't difficult to figure out where the Winchesters were once she was in the right town. She located the cheapest motel in the area and knocked on the door to the room with the Impala parked out front.

There was a long hesitation and a ruffling of curtains before the door opened, and then Sam Winchester's ridiculously tall form stood in the doorway, blinking down at her, puzzled.

"Hello again," Kate greeted pleasantly.

Sam's brow furrowed for a moment as he looked at her, blankly, before recognition set in. "Kate—Kate Fitzgerald?"

"The same," Kate agreed. "Can I come in?"

Sam looked unsure. "What happened to you?" He asked, both curious and likely stalling in case she was dangerous. Kate would bet money Dean was just inside the door with holy water and a silver knife. "Why are you here—how did you even find us?"

"Castiel told me where you were." Sam's eyes widened, and he stepped a little to the side, not to let Kate in, but to make room for Dean in the doorway.

"Cas told you," Dean repeated skeptically. "He's barely been by to see us!"

"Well, yes," Kate said matter-of-factly. "He _has_ been fighting a war in heaven."

Both of the boys froze for a second before frowning in identically defensive looks. "How do you know about that?" Asked Sam.

"You an angel?" Dean asked mistrustfully.

"100% human," Kate reassured him, though she doubted he's believe her right away. "Remember that foreknowledge I hinted at when I first saw you? Sam picked up on it. You looked for me, didn't you, when Dean was in Hell? To see if I knew how to bring him back."

"How do—" Sam cut himself off with a small shake of the head. "Foreknowledge. Right."

"That bit I actually didn't know ahead of time," Kate admitted. "My angel friend told me." She fingered the pendant hanging just over her shirt collar, which had prevented Sam from successfully locating her with scrying spells.

"Cas?" Dean asked, looking a little betrayed.

"Metatron," Kate corrected.

"Never heard of him," Dean said, looking unsure as to whether that was a good or bad thing.

"I'm okay with that," Kate said frankly. "But he's one of the good ones."

Hesitantly, Sam began to open the door wider. Dean stopped it with a firm hand and a suspicious glare. "You are not getting into this room before you answer some more questions. You disappeared from a hospital bed in broad daylight with a bunch of broken bones and nobody saw anything—"

"That was also Metatron," Kate interjected patiently.

"And we're supposed to just believe that?" Dean cast an appealing look at his brother. "She could be a witch. Or worse, an angel!"

"She is not a witch." The Winchesters didn't even jump when Castiel appeared suddenly in a muted flutter of wings, though Kate did. "Nor is she an angel."

"Cas!" Dean's eyes lit up at the sight of him, and his shoulders visibly relaxed. Kate suppressed a smile. 'Profound bond,' indeed. "You know this chick?"

Castiel's brow furrowed at the word, but nodded. "Yes." He turned his head slightly to frown at Kate. "I told you it would be easier for me to take you."

"I wanted to take the time to drive." Kate sighed. "Besides, you're busy. You didn't need to come."

"When I told Gabriel of our conversation, he encouraged me to make sure Sam and Dean did not—" Castiel hesitated, then said, clearly quoting Gabriel, "'shiv your ass'."

Kate and Sam both snorted a little at Castiel's words, but Dean was too puzzled by the apparent familiarity between Kate and Castiel to see the humor. "Cas, who _is_ she?"

Castiel regarded Dean calmly for a moment. Kate grimaced a little, bracing herself for a disparaging remark about how she was the one who had allowed them to go through everything they had in the road to the apocalypse. But Castiel said nothing about that.

"Kate Fitzgerald has saved your lives and mine more times than I can count," Castiel said finally. Kate's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Listen to her." Castiel nodded once in Kate's direction, then left just as abruptly as he'd arrived, with a hushed 'fwoop' of wings.

The boys stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to puzzle out that statement, before Dean finally turned to Kate. "Alright, what the hell does _that_ mean?"

"It's a long story. I'm happy to tell it to you, inside."

The Winchesters allowed her into the hotel room, watching carefully as she stepped over the salt line without trouble. She easily submitted to the holy water and silver tests before perching on a wobbly desk chair, which she hoped was reasonably more sanitary than either of the beds in the room. The boys still stood. Kate, used to Metatron's company and thus being the tallest person in the room most days, grimaced at them.

"Sit down, would you? I feel like I'm talking to giants."

The boys exchanged a look, shrugged, and sat on their respective beds. "You're already familiar with the Supernatural books," Kate said to begin.

Dean groaned. "Please tell me you're not a fan."

Kate hummed neutrally. "Not as such. Here, I'll start at the beginning. When you last saw me, I was in a hospital in Florida after being hit by a car, immediately following my sudden appearance from thin air."

"We remember," Sam said, looking irritated. "You disappeared, and we never solved the case."

"Well here's me, solving it for you," Kate said. "I didn't come from some future version of Massachusetts. I came from a different universe, where the events of your lives are a television show, not unlike the Supernatural books of this universe." Kate paused. "Are you following?"

"Following, yes," said Dean. "Believing, no."

Kate shrugged. "I'm happy to prove it however you like. I should say that when I fell out of my universe into this one, the show was part-way through its thirteenth season, and that we are currently in a timeframe which would fall into season six."

They stared, Dean skeptically, Sam speculatively. "Then you knew about the apocalypse," Sam said finally. Kate nodded, bracing herself.

Dean spluttered. "And you—what, you just let that happen?" He demanded. "A little warning would've been nice!"

Kate shot him an unimpressed look. "You know exactly how many demons _and_ angels were pushing for the apocalypse to happen. I sincerely believe that you two are the only ones who could have stopped it, and only through sheer stubbornness." Dean still looked stubborn, but Kate pressed on. "I'll have you know I didn't just sit back and let everything happen. I interfered a bit. Gabriel was supposed to die, as were Jo and Ellen. More recently I've been making sure monsters aren't unleashed from purgatory and Sam didn't go insane from his soul's torture in the cage. Now, knowing that, can you please listen to me when I tell you what not to do in the future?"

"You saved Jo and Ellen?" Dean asked, shocked. Sam's eyes were wide, too.

"We never found out how they made it out," Sam said quickly, excitement building in his voice, "even they didn't remember."

"Well, _I_ didn't save them," Kate corrected. "I'm not any more resistant to hell hounds or bombs than anyone else. But when I tipped Gabriel off about how to avoid being killed by Lucifer, I asked him to save Jo and Ellen." Kate folded her hands over her knee, missing the ability to curl up in her armchair. "Any more questions before I continue?"

"Loads," Sam said immediately. Kate sighed, glancing at the alarm clock on the bedside table which showed that the time was just past 5pm.

"Can I answer them over dinner? I didn't stop for lunch on the road."

The Winchesters exchanged a look, shrugged, and nodded. "Alright," Dean stood, extracting his keys from his pocket. "There's a greasy-looking diner up the road that claims to have the best burger in the state. Figure I'll be the judge of that."

Kate followed the two out of the motel room, waiting as Sam locked the door behind them. She began to fumble in her jacket for her own car keys, but then Sam opened the back door to the Impala and looked at her expectantly.

Kate stared back, mouth slightly open, for long enough that Sam and Dean exchanged furrowed-brow glances. "Sorry," Kate said finally, "Sorry. It's just… a little like Han Solo telling me to board the Millennium Falcon, that's all."

Dean grinned a little at the comparison, then frowned. "Wait, which one of us is the Wookie?"

Kate barked a laugh and didn't answer, climbing gingerly in the backseat and looking around a little reverently.

"Sam's the Wookie," Dean said firmly as he climbed in the driver's seat.

"Dean," Sam said, exasperated. Dean shook his head, pulling the Impala out of the parking lot and starting up the main road.

"Face it, Sam, if either of us is gonna be Han Solo, it's me. Which means either you're Luke, or you're Chewbacca."

"You are ridiculously tall and in need of a haircut," Kate agreed from the backseat. Sam shot her a disbelieving, betrayed look, and then made a bitchy face at Dean's crowing laughter.

Exasperated, Sam steered the direction of the conversation back towards his unanswered questions. Kate answered them all truthfully and patiently, pausing only when they settled into a diner booth and had to interact with the waitress. Dean, having warmed up to her a bit after the Chewbacca comment and taking up less space in a booth than his longer-limbed brother, sat next to her. Sam took the lead on asking questions while he devoured his burger. By the time he'd finished and they sat awaiting Dean's pie and Kate's coffee, Sam's questions about past events, possible future events, and how Kate had come to be in their universe had subsided.

Kate smiled gratefully at the waitress when she dropped off the pie and coffee. It wasn't particularly good coffee, but it was hot, and that was comforting. "Now that your questions have been answered, I'll get to why I came to see you two in the first place." Kate glanced between the two to make sure they were listening. "At some point about three years from now, your grandfather is going to fall out of a closet in your motel room."

Dean choked on his pie. Sam furrowed his brow. "Our… grandfather?"

Kate nodded. "Henry Winchester." At the dark looks on their faces, she added, "He never abandoned your Dad on purpose. It was a botched time travel spell." She paused, then backpedaled, and shortly explained the Men of Letters, how their grandfather was a member, and that John, Sam, and Dean would have been legacies. This spurred yet more questions, which Kate answered to the best of her ability. Some of it she knew, but much she didn't. By the time those questions ran dry, so had her cup, and she cast an appealing look towards their waitress across the room, who worked her way back around to refill Kate's cup with a smile.

"Can I continue?" She asked when her cup was full again. The brothers still looked a little shell-shocked by everything they had learned, but nodded. "Right. Your grandfather will fall out of the closet, and he will be pursued by the demon Abaddon. She is a Knight of Hell, the one who slaughtered all the active members of the Men of Letters decades ago. She will be after Henry because he'll be carrying the key to the Men of Letters' bunker in Missouri, which is essentially an impenetrably warded treasure-trove of lore and records on the supernatural. Abaddon wants in, for reasons that should be obvious, so you should not let her get her hands on the key."

"Okay, so we just gank her when she comes through the closet," Dean said easily, scraping up the last crumbs of his pie.

"You can't kill her," Kate said, and then, sensing the objection from the both of them, added, "And I'm not saying this because she's important, I'm saying this because there are only two weapons in the world that can kill her, and you should not mess with either of them. She's a Knight of Hell. She can't be killed with the Colt. She can't be killed with the demon knife. Do not try to find a weapon that will kill her. Do you understand me?"

Kate didn't want to even say 'First Blade,' given Winchesters' propensity for ignoring blatant warnings and making stupid, self-destructive decisions.

"But you _just_ said there were two things that could kill the bitch," Dean protested.

"Yes, there are. The first is Death's scythe, and the second is even more dangerous to acquire and use than the first." Kate paused to let that sink in, satisfied at the discouraged looks on the brothers' faces. "And because I suspect you'll ignore this warning if I don't tell you this, I'll add that if you _do_ acquire the weapon that can kill her, it will lead to a chain of events which nearly causes the destruction of the universe and sets Lucifer free again." Both brothers' eyes were wide. "Can we all agree that's a bad idea? Yes? Good. Just this once, you're going to have to let the bad guy live."

"How do we stop her, then?" Dean grumbled. "Stop a Knight of Hell, without killing her?"

"First, you carve a Devil's Trap into a bullet." Kate paused as Sam leaned forward, fascinated.

"That works?"

"It does. Shoot her with said bullet, and she will be powerless and trapped in her vessel. Then—" Kate glanced around the diner to make sure no one was paying any attention to their conversation, then continued in a quieter voice, "Then, you cut her into little pieces, bury them in cement, and leave them there. Better yet, drop them in the ocean. She'll be trapped forever." Kate sighed. "And I have to add, just because you two _did_ this and it's a colossally stupid idea: never, ever dig her up and put her back together again."

"Why would we do that?" Dean asked, disbelieving.

Kate waved a hand dismissively. "You were trying to cure a demon in order to shut the gates of Hell. Yes, both of those things are possible, and _no_ , you shouldn't try it. It would _literally_ kill you." It was heartening to know that, despite everything they'd seen, Sam and Dean were still capable of being shocked.

Kate drummed her finger on the table thoughtfully as they absorbed that information. "There was one more thing… ah, yes. Should your grandfather survive the whole ordeal with Abaddon, you _cannot_ let him return to his own time. The effect it could have on the timeline would be catastrophic. And again, I mean that literally."

Sam and Dean said nothing, but they looked a little mutinous. Kate glared at them. "I'm serious. I will be keeping an eye on you, and if it looks like you're trying to send him back in time, I _will_ stop you. I've got an archangel on my side." She didn't think Gabriel would mind her using him as a threat against the Winchesters, particularly if they were pondering something so incredibly stupid.

Sam mumbled an agreement, and Kate nodded in satisfaction, though she made a mental note to really keep an eye on them. She didn't exactly trust that the Winchesters would keep their word on this—not when this conversation was years behind them and they were faced with the possibility of righting so much that had gone wrong with their family.

It was late by the time they made it back to the hotel. Dean courteously let Kate know she was welcome to crash on the couch, and she accepted, not wanting to drive back while drowsy. Sam tried to be polite and offer her one of the beds, but she had given him a dry look and reminded him that, of the three of them, only she was small enough to comfortably fit on the couch.

She fell asleep easily, and woke to soft sunlight and the quiet 'snick' of the door closing as Sam returned from a morning run. Dean woke as well and took a shower while Sam attempted to extract a decent cup of coffee from the motel's coffee pot. When he'd managed it, he poured two cups, and handed one to Kate before sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He looked ridiculous, Kate thought, his long legs stretching out as if the couch had been made for children.

"You heading out today?" He asked. Kate nodded. "Could we get your number? Just in case…"

Kate opened her mouth to give it, then paused as she realized, "I don't have a cell phone." Sam tilted his head at her, more at her tone than her statement, she thought, and she explained. "All the people I talk to are angels." She frowned, considering. "If you write down your numbers for me, I'll hang onto them and text you when I get a phone. If you need me before then…" She hesitated, chewing her lip. "I suppose just pray to Metatron and he'll pass along the message."

Sam's eyebrows raised at that, and he paused halfway through scribbling out some numbers on a pad of the motel stationary. "About Metatron. You never really explained how he fit into all this."

Kate did not feel the need to inform him what Metatron might have done without her interference, especially in regards to his brother. "He was my partner of sorts. Helped me figure out what to change, how to change it. I couldn't have done it without him."

Sam clearly sensed there was more to the story, but didn't press. "And you'll be with him?"

Kate stared into her black coffee, contemplating. Would she?

She couldn't fathom going home to her own universe. And not because she'd lived here for so long, or because she had nothing to go back to. She didn't want to go back because the place she'd come from _wasn't_ home. Not really. Not anymore.

Because home was warmth, and comfort, and love. Home was belonging, and acceptance, and family. And she didn't think she'd find that in the world she'd come from anymore, because home wasn't a place..

Metatron was home.

"Yeah. I'll be with him."

* * *

Metatron stared when she entered his room. Surprise warred with wary hope on his face, and Kate wondered if he thought she wasn't coming back. That thought made her chest ache a little.

"You're back," he said at last, lightly, forcing his face to relax in an attempt to be casual.

Kate nodded, weaving her usual path through Metatron's stacks of books. She hesitated by her armchair, unsure whether to sit down, or approach closer. Still hovering uncertainly, she admitted, "I missed you." It was true, and she had expected to, even—but she hadn't anticipated just how much.

Metatron stood, throat bobbing as he swallowed. "You were only gone one day."

Kate hummed in agreement. "I know."

Metatron's eyes were gray-green today, pale and a bit lost. Late morning sunlight illuminated ever-present stubble and made his disheveled curls look a shade lighter. Kate walked closer and stopped inches away—just a little closer than usual. Metatron seemed to hold his breath.

She didn't know exactly what Metatron wanted from her. What did love look like, to an angel? But she guessed, from his gaze and her memory of his fingers lingering on her temple, that he enjoyed her touch.

Slowly, tentatively, Kate reached out a pale, thin hand to caress Metatron's stubble-covered cheek. Metatron released a shuddering breath, leaning into the touch, and closed his eyes.

"I missed the sound of you talking, and flipping pages, and scoffing at bad writing. I missed the sight of you rolling your eyes, and I even missed that bitchy, judgmental look you give me when I refuse to read a book you consider a classic." Metatron's eyes were open now, and he looked unsure whether to be pleased or insulted. He mouth parted, maybe to ask, and Kate finished, "I don't want to miss you again."

It took Metatron a second to process that. "You're not—" He paused, eyes wide and wary and hopeful, seeming to carefully rewrite in his mind what he wanted to say. Finally he forced words out, even though he seemed afraid to hear the answer. "You really don't want to go home?"

"I am home."

Metatron stared, unbreathing, for a long moment, then sighed. Most of the fear in his gaze drained away, and he mustered up a teasing almost-smirk. "Took you long enough to realize."

Kate scoffed and let her hand fall away from Metatron's face, but smiled. Almost hesitantly, Metatron caught it. Slowly, watching her carefully to gage her reaction, he pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand.

Kate couldn't help chuckling quietly. Metatron dropped her hand immediately, scowling self-consciously. "Don't laugh!"

"I'm sorry," Kate apologized, though probably not very convincingly, because she was still chuckling. "Sorry. It just seemed like something out of a romance novel, which is just so _you_ that I can't even—" Kate shook her head.

Metatron's shoulders hunched, and he started to turn away. Kate caught his hand and pulled him back. Metatron glared at her sullenly, and it was so ridiculous, so _Metatron_ that she couldn't help herself. She kissed him.

It was awkward, as kisses go. Kate was unused to kissing someone shorter than her, and Metatron was unused to kissing anyone at all. For a long moment, either from inexperience or sheer surprise, Metatron didn't move. But then he did, straightening up to meet the press of Kate's lips and bringing one warm hand up to her face, trailing down her neck and tangling in her hair. He was clumsy and desperate, as if he feared he might not get another chance at this so he had to do it _right_ —

But Kate didn't want him to think that. She pulled away, and then before the loss could register in his eyes, she pulled him closer again. It wasn't one kiss, but five, ten, fifteen. Long dances, short touches, soft brushes. She continued, a warm, content feeling making her chest feel full to bursting, until she felt she could safely pull away and not see disappointment in his face.

Metatron's eyes were wide, and he swallowed loudly. Kate noted, pleased, that his lips were now quite pink. "Are you—" He stopped and tried again. "Do you—"

Kate felt a deep sense of satisfaction at causing Metatron, the Scribe of God who was never, ever at a loss for words, to stutter incomprehensibly. But she guessed what he was trying to ask, and she nodded. "Yes, Metatron. I love you."


	10. Post Script

They'd gotten it a bit backwards, Kate thought. They'd moved in together long before they fell in love, and loved each other before they ever kissed. And loving Metatron was as easy as breathing, so simple and obvious that Kate thought she must have been doing it for months and months before she'd ever said it out loud. It was so utterly natural for her to curl up against him while he read, for him to press a kiss to the top of her head, that it baffled her that they hadn't done this sooner. That the two of them hadn't simply greeted each other one morning with a kiss instead of a nod, because surely that's where this had been heading all along.

But it wasn't so natural, Kate had to remind herself, because she was a human and he was an angel. And for the most part that didn't bother her. She would take as much or as little affection as Metatron was willing to give her, because she loved him and his presence was more than enough. But she wanted to know what _he_ wanted from _her_. If he was content with this fond domestic sort of bliss they'd settled into, or if he wanted more.

Kate turned in bed and tucked her face into Metatron's shoulder. Metatron didn't need to sleep, and thus didn't sleep in Kate's bed, but on lazy mornings like this one he would sometimes join her under the blankets, content to hold her for an hour or so while she dozed.

"Metatron?" she said the name into his shirt.

"My love?" He called her that often, now, and with great satisfaction. When he first spoke the words he'd seemed almost surprised, like he'd never expected to be able to utter them, but over time he'd grown comfortable with them. The way he said it, with fondness and just a touch of his inherent flair for the dramatic, never failed to make Kate smile.

She turned in Metatron's embrace so she could look him in the eye, and he tilted his head to look at her. Kate chewed her lip as she wondered how to phrase her question.

Metatron narrowed his eyes at her. "I know that look. What is it?" Kate didn't speak immediately, and Metatron rolled his eyes. "Go on, spit it out."

"Give me a second! I'm trying to be delicate," Kate complained.

Metatron snorted. "When are you ever delicate?" Kate playfully smacked Metatron's arm, and he smiled crookedly at her.

"You know I love you," Kate began.

Metatron grimaced in exaggerated faux-fear. "Well now you're just scaring me."

Kate smacked him again. "Would you shut up for just a second? This is important."

"Fine, fine." Metatron schooled his face into something resembling serious, though his eyes still sparkled with amusement.

Kate sighed. "I love you," she repeated, "and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable when I ask this, because I'll be perfectly happy whether the answer is 'yes' or 'no' or 'eventually' or 'I have no idea', okay?"

Metatron really did look concerned now, though he obediently kept his mouth shut. Kate took a deep breath.

"Do you want to have sex with me?"

Metatron's eyes widened, then narrowed as he furrowed his brow at her. "That's it?"

"That's it." Metatron relaxed, and Kate relaxed with him. She waited for his response, admiring the way his hair stuck up at odd angles while he gathered himself.

"Yes."

Kate blinked in surprise at how little time that took. "Yes?"

"Yes," Metatron repeated, resolute. He kissed her then, hard. Metatron had kissed her passionately before, but not like this. Kate gasped and pulled away from his surprisingly skilled tongue when his hands rose to her shoulders and turned her on her back in the bed.

"I didn't mean right now," she said, though it was hard to focus on words because Metatron was sucking lightly at the skin where her neck met her shoulder. "I just meant—mmmnh." He'd fucking bit her, and it was wonderful, and he looked far too smug.

"What was that, my love?"

Kate felt a little silly asking, given how confident the angel looked leaning over her, but still, "Are you sure you're ready?"

Metatron didn't roll his eyes, but it seemed to take effort. "I want to." At Kate's skeptical look, he brushed a thumb over her cheek. "I want to feel you. Please, let me feel you."

She did. They kissed, and Metatron pressed into her eagerly. These weren't the clumsy, desperate, self-conscious kisses of a few weeks ago. These were hungry, and certain, and confident. Metatron's hands trailed down Kate's sides, and hers carded through his hair. He was between her legs, then, grinding down against her as one warm hand snuck under her sleep shirt and pinched a nipple.

Kate shuddered and pulled away from Metatron's mouth with a gasp. Metatron froze, for the first time looking concerned, self-conscious, and Kate almost whined.

"Don't stop," she complained, pushing back up so her breast pushed against Metatron's hand under her shirt.

Metatron's brows furrowed. "But you just—" He paused thoughtfully. Almost experimentally, he palmed her breast gently, then firmly, watching with rapt attention as Kate's eyes fluttered. "That was good?" He tweaked her nipple again, and Kate sighed. "This is good?" He did it again, smiling as Kate leaned into him eagerly.

"Mmn, _yes_. Metatron. I will tell you, with words, if I want you to stop." Kate informed him, pausing to sigh contentedly as his other hand snuck under her nightshirt and he squeezed both her breasts at once. "Sighs and moans are good. If I'm not coherent enough to form words, you're doing well."

Metatron paused, eyebrows raising at that pronouncement. "I'll have to try harder, then."

Kate huffed a laugh. In retaliation Metatron worked her shirt half-way off. Kate had been expecting him to finish pulling it off, but he left her stuck in the fabric with her arms part-way up. Kate huffed as the blankets rustled, and she tugged the shirt the rest of the way off to find Metatron shrugging off his shirt. She propped her head in her hand to watch him finish undressing, content.

Kate had never seen him unclothed before. There was something very human about seeing him without his clothes. She was so used to him in his thick cardigans, but now he stood before her, all pale skin and dark, curly hair, with his belly protruding and his hard, flushed cock listing slightly to the left. Kate hummed in satisfaction at the sight.

Metatron shot her a disbelieving look, then looked down at himself. "That hardly seems warranted."

"Agree to disagree."Kate held his eyes as she lifted her hips and shimmied out of her underwear, tossing the garment aside without a care as to wear it landed. They were equally bare, now, and Kate beckoned Metatron back to her, eager to press skin to skin.

Kate's hands in Metatron's hair, Metatron's tongue in her mouth, Metatron's hands—Metatron's hands—

"I thought you were a virgin," Kate rushed out, shuddering as Metatron's fingers far-too-expertly rubbed circles on her clit.

"I am," Metatron said, eyes light and smiling smugly, fingers not pausing once. Kate bucked against him, gasping, and he smiled crookedly, delighted at the response.

Liar. Not possible. " _How_ —" She couldn't even finish the question. She had to squeeze her eyes shut and clutch at Metatron's shoulders, and when the wave passed and she stared at her lover, disbelieving, he smirked down at her.

"I read."

Kate opened her mouth to ask what the hell he'd been reading, but the words didn't come. She sighed, and moaned, and shook, and Metatron hid his smug face in her neck, licking and sucking and biting and _oh—_

"Okay!" Kate pushed at Metatron's hand insistently, trying to squirm away from his reach. "Okay, stop!"

Metatron paused, concerned. "Not good?"

Kate shook her head, pressing feverish kisses to whatever skin she could reach. Metatron's forearm, it seemed. Not particularly sexy, but Kate's brain wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders.

"Too good," she corrected belatedly. " _Fuck_. Too good." Metatron smiled crookedly as she gathered her breath. Kate pulled him into a kiss so she wouldn't have to watch his smug face any longer. Metatron's body pressed against her, his hard length hot against her thigh.

Kate stiffened and cursed, pulling away from the kiss. At Metatron's puzzled look, she explained, "I don't have any condoms."

Metatron gave her a dry look. "Well I'm a virgin, and you don't have to worry about getting pregnant, so unless you have something to tell me—"

"I don't?" Kate asked, puzzled.

Metatron tapped her forehead gently with two fingers. "Angel, my love."

"Right," Kate breathed, relieved. "Good. Come here." She pulled him close, reaching down with one hand to stroke Metatron's length a few times. His breath caught, eyes wide. Kate licked her lip as she guided the tip to her slick entrance. "Okay?"

Metatron swallowed heavily and nodded. "Yes." Kate let go of his cock and let herself sink down onto him, biting her lip to contain a moan. God, it had been too long. Metatron looked blindsided, astonished and overwhelmed, mouth working silently until finally he managed a soft, " _Oh._ "

Kate caressed the stubble on Metatron's face and ran a hand through his hair as they adjusted, her to the first man she'd had in over a year, and him to the completely new sensation. "Okay?" she asked again.

Metatron nodded, still amazed, and leaned down to brush his lips against Kate's. "Oh, yes."

The response made Kate smile, and almost laugh, but then Metatron was moving inside her and words fled. She couldn't get enough of the feel of him inside her, the feel of her hands in his hair, her nails scraping at the skin of his shoulders. Turnabout being fairplay, Kate tucked her face into his neck and bit and sucked in a way she _knew_ would leave bruises, and Metatron cursed as his hips bucked and his thighs shook. But then his hand was between Kate's legs again, and he seemed to know _just_ the right spot, _just_ the right pressure to undo her.

"What," Kate's voice was high and plaintive and needy, "the _fuck_ have you been—ah, hmn— _reading_?!"

"Clearly not the right stuff," Metatron said, and how was he possibly still that articulate, he was a fucking _virgin_ , it wasn't _fair_ , "if you're still forming sentences." His fingers moved faster, and his lips found her pulse point, and Kate unraveled.

Her mouth moved and sound came out, but it wasn't words. If there were words, it was almost certainly begging, or thanks, but she could hardly tell, because all there was in the world was Metatron and her and sweet, sweet friction.

"Kate," Metatron said then. It might have been seconds, or it might have been minutes. What was time, anyway? "Kate," he said again, voice rising, hurried and self-conscious and warning. Kate tangled her hands in his hair and pulled his lips to hers to silence the warning.

"Yes," she said easily, meaning _It's okay, I know, let go, it's fine_ , but all she could managed was, "Fuck, yes, Metatron, _please_ —"

And it seemed that he understood, that it was all he needed, because he held her close and shuddered and gasped as he stilled inside her. They held still for a long moment, panting and sweaty and content, Metatron still buried between her legs.

After a moment, Metatron pulled away, falling beside Kate on the bed with a disbelieving laugh.

"What?" Kate demanded, tired and sated but not about to be laughed at without an explanation.

Metatron smiled at her, all crooked teeth and flushed cheeks and shining eyes. "So much art makes so much more sense now, that's all."

And Kate laughed, too, and twined their fingers together, and it was good.

* * *

"Metatron?"

Kate frowned into the mirror, fingering the ends of her hair. Today was her birthday, her eighth since she'd arrived in this universe, and she'd been letting her hair grow out for the most part since she'd arrived, trimming it only occasionally. It was quite long, now, curls falling all the way to her waist, and a dramatic change from the short, shoulder-length hair she'd arrived with.

But, she thought, peering into the mirror suspiciously, that seemed to be just about the _only_ thing that had changed.

"Yes, my love?" Metatron leaned on the doorframe, watching her watch herself in the mirror with a slight smile. Even despite her suspicion, Kate felt her own lips quirk upwards at the sight of him.

"I'm 35 today," Kate said, catching his gaze in the mirror.

Metatron seemed a little puzzled that she would call him in here just to point it out, but said anyway, "Happy birthday, then."

"Yes, it is," she said agreeably. "But I was wondering if perhaps you could explain to me why I don't look a day over 30."

Metatron froze. Kate turned away from the mirror to face him head-on, arching an eyebrow as he looked away and mumbled something. "What was that?"

Metatron sighed and met her eyes, looking resigned. "28." Kate's eyebrows rose. Metatron rushed words out. "Now, before you get upset, I didn't _lie_ to you. I just… failed to mention it."

"Failed to mention _what_ , precisely?"

Metatron winced. "...Immortality."

"Immortality," Kate repeated, disbelieving, then, "28? When did you do this?"

Metatron shifted on his feet, but said eventually, "When we were preparing for the battle with Raphael. When you were angry with me." Metatron glanced away, seeming to be unable to bear the weight of her eyes. "I began to think you'd never forgive me in a whole lifetime, but I thought… maybe, if you had two lifetimes, or more…"

Kate felt her disapproving look soften. She crossed the room in a few steps, taking Metatron's hand in hers. Metatron finally looked at her, hopeful.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my entire life," she told him fondly.

He shut his eyes and sighed, but nodded. He looped his arms around her, and Kate leaned into the warm embrace contentedly. "Even with all the time in the world and all the words ever written, I don't think I could ever fully express how much I need you."

Kate smiled into his chest. "You're an idiot."

"But I'm _your_ idiot," Metatron said, pulling away and smiling crookedly at her.

"That you are."


End file.
